Half of a Heart's Desire: Entre Deux Guerres
by An Acolyte
Summary: AU. James Potter did not die on Halloween. Now, with Sirius and Remus, he must raise Harry in seclusion. But when three men in the habit of being conspicuous try to live as Muggles, can the boundaries between the two worlds long survive?
1. The Night Before

**Half of a Heart's Desire: Entre Deux Guerres**

_James Potter did not die on Halloween. Now, with Sirius and Remus, he must raise Harry in seclusion. But when three men in the habit of being conspicuous try to live as Muggles, can the boundaries between the two worlds long survive?_

**Chapter 1: The Night Before**

James Potter stepped out of the flames into the headmaster's office, brushing the soot off his robes. Even though he had left Hogwarts several years ago, and had never lacked an excess of self-confidence to start with, Dumbledore's office was one of the few places that left him feeling a little like a wrong-footed first year unsure as to just how much the Headmaster actually knew. Of course, he reflected wryly, it wasn't as though he had ever gotten out of the habit of keeping secrets from the headmaster. He wondered if that was why Dumbledore had called him in today, although he had a feeling it was someone else's secret the Headmaster needed to discuss with him.

He distracted himself by admiring the whirring silver instruments that had always caught his eye when he came into the Headmaster's office. Over the years, he had worked out what a number of them were, and replicated some for his own use, but there were others that still baffled him, and he had not yet worked out how they all worked together as he was sure they did.

Mr. Ollivander, while selling him his wand a decade earlier, had not been quite correct in diagnosing James's particular talent. He was undoubtedly an extraordinary student in Transfiguration, but he had never pursued it with the single minded dedication that Sirius had afforded. Neither did he share Lily's aptitude for Charms or her deft hand in potions, or Remus's fascination with Defense. Even Peter had found his niche in Care of Magical Creatures; Sirius had long been of the opinion that it had been Peter's aptitude in relating to animals that had finally allowed him to master the Animagus transformation – certainly his grasp of the theoretical concepts of projection and spatial manipulation had never quite reached the necessary level.

But James was different. He was the jack-of-all-trades, excelling in every subject while specializing in none. His true passion lay elsewhere; none of his classes at Hogwarts, or even Quidditch, had ever quite captured the essence of it. James was a tinkerer. Ever since he was little he had been taking things apart to find out how they worked – although this was a more thankless task in a magical household than it might have been in a Muggle home. And ever since he had been able to use magic himself he had been putting things together, combining everything he learnt creatively to come up with things from his own imagination. It helped, of course, that his imagination had always been healthy, and once his friends discovered his particular talents he was never short of suggestions from them. Sirius, in many ways, had been the chief Marauder, and Remus, slightly reluctantly, the chief strategist; James's agenda was larger and more ambitious – he had made them Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers.

His proudest moment was still the nose-biting teacup he had perfected during his fifth year, although there were times when he wished for a more conventional Patronus. For one thing, he had landed several detentions for crockery substitutions on the staff table that had gone untraced until that story had made the rounds in the staff room. For another, there were still members of the Order of the Phoenix who didn't take him and his young friends all that seriously, and a hopelessly juvenile guarding spirit, as Lily had called it, didn't quite set the tone he was hoping for. Still, Voldemort had not yet taken the Dementors of Azkaban into his service, and lethifolds were hard to come by in the British Isles, so it was not as though too many people apart from his school friends and teachers knew about his Patronus form.

The Order was well aware of James's inventive talents, and had made use of it on many occasions, most recently when Alastor Moody had lost an eye in a particularly vicious raid from which he had been lucky to escape alive. While others had visited him at St. Mungo's and offered their sympathies, it was James who had made it possible for him to continue in his career by creating a magical eye that, had James himself been the one to use it, could have been put to extremely mischievous use. Along with the eye James had also gifted Moody with his newly coined epithet, Mad Eye, for which the latter was considerably less grateful.

But while James's ingenuity had allowed him and Lily to escape Voldemort's clutches three times, none of his ideas had enabled him to discover the spy within the Order. There had been information leaks occurring consistently for nearly a year, but none of the traps James had helped lay had provided any useful information. It was becoming obvious that the spy was someone very close to James, who either knew how to outthink him, or had been in on his secrets all along. James steadfastly refused to suspect any of his close friends, but Sirius, his oldest and best friend, feared, however reluctantly, that they ought not to discount the possibility that Remus Lupin might be the one. James suspected that the Headmaster had called him in to discuss this very issue; otherwise, given James's current sensitive situation, Dumbledore was unlikely to have called him away from his wife and infant son.

"There you are, James. Have a seat. Some Turkish Delight?"

The Headmaster made his way down the stairs, blue eyes twinkling, dressed in his usual flamboyant robes. James thought he spotted fawns dancing along the border, and smiled. It was comforting to know that some things would never change.

"No, thank you, Headmaster. I never did acquire the taste for it."

"I hope you don't mind if I do, then," he said, helping himself to some of the sticky Muggle confection.

"Not at all. May I ask why you needed me here tonight? I assume it's rather urgent."

"Indeed, James. You have my apologies. I know that under the circumstances you want to stay with Lily and Harry, but it really was quite unavoidable. You know, of course, that for some time now we have had a spy in our midst?"

"Yes, of course. You've discovered his identity?" James's expression was eager, but slightly nervous. "Sirius suspects... but he would never..."

"I don't know yet myself. But I do have spies of my own in Voldemort's ranks, and one of them contacted me today with a very promising lead that he tells me you might be able to help us confirm. He will be joining us momentarily."

"I have to confirm it? Then Sirius is right?" James looked vaguely sickened.

Dumbledore smiled sadly, "As I said, James, I don't know. But given my source, I suspect it is someone you are close to. And, after all, you and Lily have had rather a lot of close calls. That is partly why the Fidelius became so necessary at this time."

"Do I know your source, Headmaster?"

"You do indeed, James. And if I am not mistaken, that will be him coming up right now."

It was not often that the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry found himself entertained by schoolboy rivalry, but James Potter's face at the moment the door from the spiral staircase opened was a sight to behold. It was to his credit that he recovered his equanimity as quickly as he did, though any trace of the anxiety he had previously exhibited was carefully concealed as he ran his fingers in a manner his wife had carefully taught him to avoid, making his hair even messier than it usually was.

"All right, Severus?"

And therein lay the quality that had allowed Dumbledore to trust one of Hogwarts' greatest pranksters to be one of its more successful Head boys. Sirius Black would have erupted in rage by now. James Potter would never go so far as to offer a truly cordial greeting to his old nemesis, as Dumbledore knew well enough, but cocksure as undoubtedly he was, James had at least learnt that discretion and restraint were not unbecoming in a Gryffindor. He gave no sign that until that moment he hadn't had the slightest idea that Severus Snape was in any way connected with Dumbledore or the Order, and while Dumbledore was sure that he remained on his guard, he gave no overt sign of hostility or mistrust.

Snape, on the other hand, made no effort to conceal his shock. As he turned towards the headmaster, one might even have thought that there was more than a trace of reproach in his gaze. When he spoke, however, it was his old rival he addressed.

"I gather it is futile to hope that you might grow out of that exceedingly common mode of greeting, Potter."

"I never knew you had such a gift for verbal repartee, Severus. Polysyllabic and everything. We might have made something of you if you hadn't drawn your wand at the slightest provocation."

Snape sneered at the light response.

"I dare say I had ample provocation, Potter, if I might return the compliment. I've never known you to wait so long before drawing a wand to turn my own spellwork against me. Dare I hope that you've actually grown up? Or do I owe this courtesy to the Headmaster's presence?"

"I can't imagine what you mean, Severus. I'm simply waiting with bated breath for these revelations the Headmaster promised me. I assume you're the bearer of the good news, or did you just drop by for a nice chat and a cup of tea?"

Dumbledore might have interrupted sooner had he not been interested in seeing how these two antagonistic classmates would deal with each other this evening. Severus's caustic humour was nothing new to him; it was James's tactics that he found particularly amusing. They were far removed from what James, or his best friend Sirius, had ever used at Hogwarts, even after James became a relatively law abiding head boy. Neither did they resemble his vivacious wife's plainspoken approach. James had decided to brazen it out, but his tactics most resembled those that Dumbledore might have expected from another of his friends, the very one, if Dumbledore was not mistaken, that James was so reluctantly suspicious of: Remus Lupin. And as far as Dumbledore could tell, the approach was working. Of course, Dumbledore had long been of the opinion that left to his own devices Remus could have aggravated Snape quite as effectively as his friends ever did with the added benefit of never incurring any loss of points for Gryffindor, but this was one piece of wisdom he had never considered sharing with his young friends.

"As I said earlier, Headmaster, I believe I have a useful lead," Severus said, evidently tired of holding something approaching a civilized conversation with James Potter, "I came as soon as I was able to without raising any suspicions. I suppose Potter is here so that we can dispense with the matter rapidly."

"Thank you, Severus. I hope we can let James get back to Lily and young Harry for their little Halloween feast."

Severus nodded, managing to convey in a disdainful look that he found the notion of a Potter family celebration utterly repulsive, but was grateful for any event that meant that he would not have to endure James's company for an extended period.

"A few days ago, the Dark Lord inducted a new member into the Inner Circle. It was a Death Eater I have never previously encountered, but he must have been serving the Dark Lord for some time to have earned this distinction. It struck me as rather unusual at the time that he did not refer to the new inductee by name, instead using a nickname that sounded vaguely familiar. Of course I never caught a glimpse of his face. That was when I first notified you, Headmaster. Earlier today I realized that I had heard the name here at Hogwarts, used by Potter and his little gang."

"Who was it?" asked James, urgently.

"Does the name Wormtail mean anything to you?"

James's eyes widened in disbelief, as for once, he forgot all about maintaining an unperturbed demeanor before a man he could never bring himself to like or entirely trust.

"Wormtail. Oh my God. We never thought... Lily and Harry... Headmaster, I must return to Godric's Hollow at once."

"So it is Black?" There was a smug satisfaction on Snape's face, but also something like a trace of pity that he would never admit to. James was shaken out of his shock by righteous indignation on behalf of his closest friend.

"Certainly not! How could you think Sirius would do such a thing? Peter is Wormtail. Peter, our secret-keeper... Are you sure?"

"I thought you had chosen Sirius, James." Dumbledore cut off Snape's retort, focusing on the more urgent matter at hand.

"We did, but he was too obvious. He opted to remain a decoy, while Peter conducted the actual spell. We never imagined... I have to get Lily and Harry out of there, Professor."

"Of course, James. Bring them back here at once."

But as James took a pinch of floo powder, another head appeared in the fire, effectively cutting off his exit.

"Will you give us a minute, Alastor? It's a bit of an emergency right now."

"I'll say it is. Haven't you checked your Foe Glass in the last ten minutes, Dumbledore? Or is there something wrong with mine?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes had clouded over, and he looked unexpectedly old as he asked the question to which the entire wizarding world had been waiting for an affirmative answer.

"Is he gone then?"

And indeed, as they turned to look at the glass Dumbledore had kept close by for all these years, all they could see were shadowy forms. The dangerous red eyes that had glinted constantly in there for the last eleven years were now nowhere to be seen. Snape glanced down, flicking his left sleeve away in a rapid motion that only Dumbledore noticed, and then nodded slowly, finding his own confirmation, then directed a look of what could only have been unbridled hatred towards James.

"I'm afraid it is all the more urgent, Alastor. James must use the fire at once."

Moody grumbled, but crawled through instead of retreating.

"I don't know if you'll be able to Floo, James, but why don't you give it a try?"

But Dumbledore was right. Even as James pronounced the words, he knew there was something wrong, and it was only his Quidditch reflexes that allowed him to step back into Dumbledore's office instead of being deposited at some arbitrary grate.

"It is as I feared, then. James, you know how far you have to go to apparate. Bring Harry back here at once. Do not try and track Peter down on your own. I'll see if I can find your other friends."

James blinked owlishly. "Then you think..."

"Given what we know from the prophecy, I think we must assume that your son has dealt the Dark Lord a very significant setback at the very least. As for the rest, I cannot say what you might find. Anything is possible, James. But you must hurry; you know that there are others out there with very little to lose at this time."

"Watch your back, boy," said Moody, with gruff affection.

James barely nodded at them as he took the spinning spiral staircase three steps at a time. He wove his way through the hallways he knew so well, his mind working furiously to determine which route would be the fastest. He made his way through the Great Hall and out through the main doors without regard to the Halloween decorations he disrupted or the many students who stared at him.

As he reached the grounds he glanced around, and scanned the windows rapidly, then transformed and cantered gracefully towards the gate. Running was a little simpler now; his heart was not quite so heavy – perhaps Prongs could not feel the pain of so many uncertainties. He could not think – he did not want to think – surely if Lily – he would have to know it – he would have to feel something instead of sitting there merrily trading barbs with Snape. He had neared the outskirts of the grounds, and James barely reappeared before he vanished again, this time with the soft pop of a well-controlled apparition.

The sight that greeted his eyes when he appeared in Godric's Hollow would be fodder for nightmares for many years to come. It was a scene from the worst kind of Halloween story. His house was destroyed – reduced to rubble practically, though here and there a wall still stood, reminding him of what he ought to be seeing. He walked through the place where the front door had stood, not able to bring himself to breach the non-existent walls; he felt enough like a ghost as it was. He traced his way through remnants of the familiar hallway, his steps bearing him to what had once been the nursery. It looked as though this was the epicenter of the damage, the walls falling outwards from here. James stepped over a pile of black robes and ashes towards the crumpled form of his beloved wife, hoping against hope that she was lying merely unconscious. James was not the only one trying to wake her. Trying to cuddle against Lily was an infant bleeding copiously from his forehead and starting to grow frantic in his cries. His son. The savior of the wizarding world was crying for a mother he would grow up never knowing.

James had seen enough victims fall to the killing curse to truly believe that there was anything he could do for Lily, but that didn't stop him from trying. He shook her, cast enervate and every healing spell he knew, tried to force her to breathe physically as Muggles did, and even yelled hysterically at her to wake up because he and Harry had never needed her more. He didn't care that it was absolutely impossible that she should have survived such a direct assault, that no one had ever before escaped Voldemort's immediate wrath. The infant crying next to her gave lie to all those notions, after all, and re-wrote over a thousand years of conventional wizarding wisdom. If anyone could survive the killing curse then surely it had to be Lily, who had more strength than anyone James had ever known.

He knelt beside her, spent, not knowing what to think or how to act. He didn't notice he was crying until he realized that he couldn't quite see through wet glasses. Harry was still sobbing quietly, but he turned away from his mother, unable to gain a response from her. He extended his pudgy little arms, almost but not quite encircling James's knee.

"Dadda no cry."

James blinked, taking in the sight before him, and picked up his infant son and held him close. How long they stood there crying, father and son, James would never know.

It was the sound of a motorcycle that threw James out of his stupor. A very familiar sound, and one that he would normally have recognized a mile away, but today it was just an unwelcome thrumming in his ear and a distraction he didn't need until he turned around and saw his best friend looking like death.

"James, thank Merlin! What happened here?"

James opened his mouth, not knowing that he would ever be able to speak again. Sirius came closer, and laid a hand on his shoulder, and then it all came out, in a torrent of words.

"Wormtail, Sirius! I went to Hogwarts to see Dumbledore, just for a little bit; just to find out who the spy was. And Snape said it was Wormtail. Wormtail! And then Voldemort was gone, and I tried to floo back and I couldn't, and by the time I got here she was dead, Sirius! Lily's dead! I tried everything to wake her, and she won't, Sirius. It's just Harry and me, and Voldemort's gone, Sirius! I think that's him over there. What am I going to do without her?"

But Sirius himself was not much better than his best friend. He had never looked or sounded more shaken, not even when he had found himself at James's doorstep the summer before his seventh year at Hogwarts, with no family to call his own and no other place to go.

"He's a rat, James! How did we never see it? I was just at his house. That's why I came here; I knew something was wrong. He's disappeared, just like that... no sign of a struggle, no trace of an apparition. I am so, so sorry, James. I'll chase him down and kill him myself! How could he do this, James? How could he do this to you and Lily and Harry?"

"No, you can't chase him down now, Sirius. Come with me. We have to go back to Hogwarts. I've stayed here too long already. Dumbledore said... Come, we have to go to Hogwarts."

"You go to Hogwarts, James. You take Harry. I have a traitor to kill. Didn't he know that we trusted him? Didn't he know that any of us would have died for him willingly? And I suggested him as secret keeper. I as good as invited Voldemort myself. I have to go after him, James."

"No, you're coming with me. Merlin, Sirius, he could be anywhere! How are you going to track down a rat in a sewer? We have to go to Hogwarts. We have to tell Dumbledore. No one else knows. No one but us. Unless we tell Dumbledore and the Ministry we'll never find him."

"If we wait until morning he could be anywhere, mate."

"Padfoot, please. I... I can't be all by myself tonight. She's gone, Padfoot. Come with me, please. Harry and I need you with us."

There was nothing Sirius could say to that. Acutely conscious of the ways in which he had already let James down, he nodded. His best friend was grieving in a way he could barely begin to comprehend. James needed him, and he would never let him down again. He took Harry, as James carefully cradled Lily's corpse.

"I have to bring her. I can't just leave her there," said James, helplessly.

"Yes of course. I'll leave the bike here. Apparate to the edge of the grounds, all right?"

James nodded, concentrating to make sure that his precious burden would travel safely with him. He only rarely needed to apparate anything more than himself, or Harry at most. The two friends looked at each other, and vanished from the ruins at Godric's Hollow.


	2. I Should Have Known Better

**Chapter 2: I Should Have Known Better**

Sirius Black stepped out of the hospital wing, not sure what he could do to contain his nervous energy. He had sat long hours with James, his best friend, heard him babble less coherently than Sirius could ever remember him doing, even when he had lost his own parents. At that time, it had been Sirius who had been reduced to a wreck, knowing that the only people in the world who had been as parents to him were now lost to him, and knowing also that it was those with whom he shared blood who had been responsible. James and Lily, devastated themselves, had nevertheless been strong for him, and today Sirius had felt acutely inadequate in attempting to return the favor. Yet James had insisted on his being there long after Harry had been fed, bathed, and put to sleep, and the two friends had sat there and talked for hours, until Madam Pomfrey insisted on sending James to bed with a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Sirius had been threatened with the same, but had managed to excuse himself, saying that Remus Lupin was still expected and that someone needed to be around to acquaint him with what had happened, at which point he had been expelled from the hospital wing for being too much of a nuisance and a distraction.

Dumbledore had told him to expect Remus's arrival by midnight, and in a way, Sirius was glad that Madam Pomfrey had decreed that James would be asleep long before then. Sirius knew that the bond he and James shared was unique, and he felt protective of James in the first throes of his grief, not wanting to expose him even to eyes as trusted as Dumbledore's or Remus's. Yet right now Sirius had no idea what to say to Remus, a man he regarded more highly than almost anyone in the world, even as he had gradually been convincing himself that Remus had to have been the spy. James had called him a daft berk, and Lily had given him a scolding and a smack, and if Remus had been there he would have smirked and said that he had gotten his just rewards, but Remus hadn't been there; he had been around less and less, lately, and Sirius hadn't been able to stop himself from letting his mind wander in dark directions. Thinking the worst was a family trait, after all, one that even Sirius was not able to completely escape. And now he knew that the traitor had been elsewhere all along, and he had suspected someone he cared for and profoundly respected, and he had no idea how to punish himself. He had never been proud of his suspicions; he had never shared them with anyone but James and Lily, and he was heartily ashamed of himself now that his colossal misjudgment had had consequences he could never have foreseen.

Yet Sirius missed his friend, and couldn't wait to see him. His suspicion, ultimately, had stemmed largely from a feeling he had always carried that Remus could see through them, somehow, and understood him and James perhaps even better than they did each other. Peter had been a much simpler sort of friend to have. Remus had depended on them, had been made dependent by his own secret, and he rarely overruled their impulsiveness with his better judgment, yet when he chose to exercise his strength he could control Sirius and James in a way that even Lily had never quite managed. His style was subtler than theirs, and perhaps it was force of circumstance that had given him a kind of self-control that he and James could rarely aspire towards, even after James had grown up and mellowed somewhat.

In the end it had been Sirius's respect for Remus that had earned him his distrust. Moony was clever, his circumstances had lent him a certain deviousness, and he understood people, with all their strengths and weaknesses. He was trusted by many on the side of Light, yet his secret made him vulnerable. Had Sirius been a Dark Lord, Moony would have been the first one he would have tried to recruit. And Sirius knew that for the sake of friendship and acceptance Remus could be nudged to act against his better judgment; he had shamelessly taken advantage of this weakness of his friend's many times. But Sirius also knew that he should have remembered that goading Remus into orchestrating schoolboy pranks was very different from persuading him to betray those whose trust had given his life meaning. He should have known better than to think that Remus would succumb to such persuasion. Remus was stronger than that, and he had known it well; he had been the one to let Moony down when they were boys, after all, and not the other way around. And now he had done again, and Lily, who had loved Remus like a brother, had been the one to pay the price.

And he was brooding on Moony now to keep his thoughts off his other friend, for he still could not entirely curb his impulse to leave Hogwarts and stalk the streets in search of Wormtail. He could not think of him as Peter now, and if Voldemort was calling him Wormtail then that would be what Sirius would call him as well. By now he must have known that his plan had failed, and that his Master had been destroyed. By the time they started the search for him it would be much too late. Wormtail was too inconspicuous. The time to hunt for him was now, yet Sirius was here, bound by a promise. He was itching to leave, and his nervous energy was by no means expended by his incessant wandering. Distracted by footsteps further down the hallway, he noted his surroundings, finding that he had taken a familiar path down to the Hogwarts kitchens. Clearly, it was a predictable direction, and as the footsteps came closer he saw that Remus had tracked him down.

"What's happened, Sirius? What's going on here?"

"What do you mean? Hasn't Dumbledore told you anything?"

"Dumbledore told me to talk to you. He called me earlier and told me that James needed us, and that I should come here at all costs tonight. I saw some of our kind celebrating on the streets rather rashly, and I heard something about Voldemort's defeat, but I was rushing here and I didn't wait to find out what was going on. What's happened? Why is James in the hospital wing? Are they all in there?"

"Where have you been, anyway?"

"In Egypt, this evening. I've been researching some scrolls for Dumbledore at the Library of Alexandria, and other magical libraries around the world."

Sirius had been wondering all this time what was keeping Remus, and it had never occurred to him that there was a very good reason for his delay. Cross-border apparition was a tricky business, especially across bodies of water. There were physical as well as jurisdictional hurdles, and given the customs barriers and the mandatory rest periods to prevent splinching, Remus had made remarkably good time. No wonder they hadn't seen as much of Remus as they were used to seeing. If this had been his errand for the Order it was remarkable that they saw him as often as they did.

"Why aren't you telling me anything, Sirius? What happened?"

There was no easy way to say this. Sirius looked him in the eye, willing him to read his mind, but knowing that that was no way to do this, he started to speak, avoiding his friend's real question.

"Voldemort attacked in Godric's Hollow tonight. You heard correctly. He has been defeated. He's lying in a pile of ashes in Harry's nursery right now."

"I'm not asking about Voldemort, Sirius. Where are James and Lily and Harry?"

"James is here, with Harry. Harry's the one who defeated Voldemort, Remus, can you believe it? They're sleeping in the hospital wing. Lily... Lily's dead, Remus. This is all my fault."

"What have you done, Sirius? Please tell me you didn't complete the Fidelius, that there was some delay. How could you? You were the secret-keeper... unless you switched... without telling me?"

Sirius didn't say anything. He couldn't speak. He would have looked away, but he maintained eye contact, knowing that he owed his friend at least that much. Remus held his eye for a long moment, and then moved so rapidly that Sirius actually flinched before he was pulled into a hug. Sirius didn't know how to react; Remus was so rarely given to physical overtures that this reaction would have been shocking had he even deserved an ounce of sympathy. He certainly hadn't earned his friend's compassion, but he realized now how much he actually needed it. Remus really did know him much better than he knew himself.

"You should blame me, Remus. This is all my fault. I as good as handed them over to Voldemort myself. James... Merlin, Remus, you should see James. I can't get him to stop crying... I can barely stop myself from crying, except that he needs me, and Harry needs him. He made me promise to stay here, Remus. He wants to keep me from getting in trouble. This is all my fault. Did you know he fell in love with Evans the very first day on the Hogwarts Express, right after she slapped him for pulling her pigtails? And now she's gone, Remus, and it's all my fault."

"But it isn't your doing. You weren't the secret keeper. Peter, then?"

"I made them switch. I thought it was too obvious. I thought we needed a decoy. It should have been you. That was James's first reaction, and Lily's too, but you were never around, and I wasn't sure, and I..."

"You suspected me. I know."

"How did you know? Why didn't you say something?"

"I suppose I was afraid. What was there to say? All I knew was that it wasn't me, and I knew there wasn't any way I could prove it. It was only logical for you to suspect me. It was pretty clear it had to be one of us. You and James were never going to suspect one another, and of course Lily was out of the question. That left me and Peter. I was always traveling. Peter was always present, always friendly. I know how you think, Sirius. It wasn't your fault."

"But it was, wasn't it? You didn't suspect the wrong person. It's not your fault she's dead. I as good as killed her myself."

"No, I don't think I did any better than you, Sirius. I just... I couldn't suspect any of you without proof. I could never suspect my best friends, but I knew it had to be one of us. I could never decide, never act. I stopped myself from trying to find out, because I thought that finding out would betray my best friends. In a way I suppose I betrayed all of you. I never made the slightest effort to even to think about it, or talk to Dumbledore, or do anything! I don't think inaction was a better choice, Sirius."

"It was better than my choice."

"No, Sirius. You placed your trust in someone who you thought had earned it. The betrayal is all on Peter's side."

"It's my fault, Remus, and I have to do something about it. He's out there, and we both know how easy it is for him to get away. We should be hunting him down like the rat he is right now. I could track his scent, Moony, Padfoot could track him down, but I can't, I promised James, but now he's sleeping, and I can't sleep, I can't think – what are we going to do now, Moony?"

"I'd trust James on this one, Sirius. I think he needs you right now more than he needs revenge."

"But Wormtail is still out there, Moony. How are they going to find him? Nobody knows about him except us."

"Who knows what dark magic he's capable of now? There are spells he could be using that we'd never be able to track in a thousand years."

Sirius let out a sudden, bark-like laugh.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Remus. This is still Wormtail we're talking about."

Remus snorted.

"You're right, of course." His face hardened suddenly, into an expression Sirius had only seen once before. "And he will live to regret this. He should have known better. He should have known that we would have given our lives for him, but we're not afraid to take his, now."

"Are you planning to go hunt him down, then?"

"James is more important than Peter right now. Tell me honestly, Sirius. You know him better than anyone else. What would he want me to do?"

"Damn it, Moony! You always ask the difficult questions. I want to send you hunting after Wormtail right now, but if you had seen James earlier, you wouldn't need to ask. He needs you here. Harry needs you here. I'm not good enough for this alone, Moony. Lily would kill me if I let you go away at time like this."

Remus looked at him and nodded, then hesitated for a moment.

"Then there is something else we need to do as soon as possible, Padfoot. We need to tell Dumbledore about Wormtail. We have to give the Aurors the best chance possible."

Sirius's eyes widened.

"Tell him about all of us, you mean?"

"It's your secret to keep, Sirius. I don't want to get you or James in trouble with the Ministry. But do you think Dumbledore will believe that Peter managed it all by himself? I'll have to tell him it was all my fault. I'll say I helped Peter."

"That'll never work, Remus. He'll know you can't do it. Besides, I know you too. It's hard enough for you to keep things from Dumbledore; you won't be able to lie to him. I'll come with you; we'll tell him the whole truth. He'll keep it from the Ministry. What's the worst that can happen, anyway? If it comes to that we'll tell the Ministry we managed it last week, and the animagus roster will just have to get a little more crowded."

"We'd better go talk to him, then. I have a feeling he knew we'd have something to tell him."

"Impossible to say. He always has that omniscient look about him, but we've managed to keep a few secrets from him over the years. I was meaning to ask, earlier. How did you find me down here, anyway?"

"That was easy enough. Madam Pomfrey told me she had chased you out, and you weren't with Dumbledore. Short of Filch's office, there weren't too many other choices. Besides, I'm starving; even if I hadn't found you here I would probably have stepped in for a snack."

"Why are we standing out here, then? Let's get you something to eat before we go up and face the old spinx."

Remus shook his head, and started to turn away, but Sirius was already tickling the pear, his face lit up in fond remembrance, and once the picture popped open, the House-elves came bustling towards them, and it would have been impossible to leave. Remus resigned himself to an ample supper before making his revelations, while Sirius put away a snack almost as hearty. It was strange, Remus thought, that he could be sick at heart, and yet, he could sit here and enjoy this simple camaraderie. One of his best friends was dead, and another was mourning her, the love of his life. A third had betrayed them in such a manner as to make it impossible to ever think of him as a friend again. And yet here he was, and Sirius was his friend, and trusted him, and James was his friend, and needed him. Sirius and James, who had had everything themselves, and who had still taken him in, and offered him the one thing he had never thought to have. He did not have much to offer in return, but he did have friendship, and loyalty, and they would always have that, from him.

Facing Dumbledore right now, to tell him they had betrayed his trust, would be difficult. Facing James tomorrow morning would be harder still, knowing that there was virtually nothing he could do to alleviate his friend's agony. But just the presence of his friends had meant so much to him at so many points in his life that Remus could only hope that his presence too would count for something now.


	3. Come Together

**Chapter 3: Come Together**

Lily Potter's funeral, held amid the bleak beauty of a drizzling November day, was almost exactly as she would have wanted it to be. Although practically all of wizarding Britain wished to be in attendance, the guest list, for the most part, was restricted to close friends and family, though some Ministry dignitaries, including Bartemius Crouch and Millicent Bagnold herself, did manage to procure invitations. Horace Slughorn was there of course, in his dignified black cravat, greeting everyone who counted like a favorite uncle as he exclaimed how much he enjoyed the quiet retired life, and perhaps some of the tears he shed for his dear Lily were even sincerely meant. Still, some seats remained empty; Lily's sister Petunia and her family did not attend, or even respond to the invitation. James and Harry were the chief mourners, of course, and the funeral was held largely as per wizarding tradition, which Lily had always been eager to adopt. Sirius and Remus were pall bearers, and Dumbledore himself offered the eulogy. James spoke as well, and outdid himself, though his friends had worried that he would not be able to contain his emotion. Celestina Warbeck, a cordial acquaintance if not a close friend, offered a moving requiem. And Lily spoke herself, from her portrait, commissioned by the elder Potters as a wedding gift for their son, and carefully restored from its damaged state in the days before the funeral by the artist, Patina Chiaroscuro. Lily spoke not of own her life but of the future, of the hope of the wizarding world now to live in peace. She asked her guests to care for Harry and James in the days to come, as she herself would not be able to.

James and Harry remained at Hogwarts even after the funeral, as James finally began to be able to contemplate a future for himself and his son. Harry had had a few bad nights after the events of Halloween. Nightmares, of course, were not unexpected under the circumstances, but even with Harry's limited vocabulary he had apparently said enough for Dumbledore to suspect that Voldemort might share some sort of link with Harry through his scar. Nowadays, however, Harry seemed to be sleeping through as much of the night as could be expected for a child of his age, and was in far less pain, allowing his guardians to hope that Voldemort was either very far away or powerless to hurt him, or preferably both.

Sirius and Remus had made the necessary revelations to Dumbledore in the wake of the calamity, and the Headmaster had notified the Ministry to look for Peter Pettigrew's animagus form. Wizarding households were circulated pictures of Wormtail, and told, for safety's sake, to eradicate rats altogether, while Milicent Bagnold's communications to the Muggle prime minister included, along with descriptions and photographs of the dangerous fugitive Pettigrew, fabricated tidings of a plague-like blight carried by rats that prompted the Muggle government to step up its extermination program and strengthen quarantine measures into the United Kingdom. Yet neither Pettigrew nor his master could be traced, and rumors arose that they had likely migrated to the continent to lie low for the time being before they could gather strength again. Sirius and Remus grew ever more anxious, and were keen to participate in the hunt for their former friend, but James's wellbeing and Harry's overrode all their other concerns. Neither of them was ready just yet to leave him, and James was not eager to see them go.

Yet anxious as his friends were about James, in some ways, the bereaved young husband was the best situated among them to heal. James Potter was cheerful by disposition, and very little given to melancholy. Though in his younger years he had been capable of thoughtless cruelty towards those who did not claim his friendship, he was open-minded by nature to anything short of a willful avowal of darkness. He had given his trust in the most unlikely of places, and found himself, for the most part, amply rewarded. His choice of best friends – the scion of an ancient family with well-known leanings to the dark side, a supposed dark creature, and an obscure, relatively untalented admirer – had always been a testament to his openness. He was capable of great empathy, had helped each of his friends through incredible trials in their lives, but as an incredibly bright young man and the much loved and indulged only child of a well-regarded family, he had faced few challenges in his own life, and had had little reason to learn responsibility early in life. Quite possibly the only thing in life that he had ever worked to earn had been Lily's admiration and eventually her love, and even there, through years of violent rebuffs, his confidence that he would prevail had never flagged.

This was the first time in his life that he had ever found himself in a situation approaching real despair. He missed Lily terribly, with a visceral, violent, ache. He still could not fathom that someone he had loved as a brother, whom he had trusted with all his secrets and with the safety of the family he loved above all else, could have betrayed him in this manner. But unlike Sirius, or even Remus, going after Wormtail was absolutely the last thing on his mind right now. He was not used to the bitter sting of disappointed hopes; for him this was a new sensation, and unlike his friends', his mind had not made the leap towards a need for retribution. His instinct was quite different; he was determined to protect and secure what remained his. He had lost Lily, and Peter, but Harry still needed him. And he still had Sirius and Remus. He was determined not to lose them in a mindless hunt for vengeance. Sirius would have said that James had softened in his old age, but that was not the case. He was just as ready as he had ever been to stand up in defense of those he cared for. He would protect Harry and Sirius and Remus with his life. And he wasn't about to let them needlessly risk their lives for his.

Like Dumbledore, James was well aware that his son was at risk, for having accomplished what no grown wizard could have hoped for. Yet as much as James respected Dumbledore, and the wizarding world would have said with one voice that whatever else James Potter was, he was, before all else, Dumbledore's man, he did not intend to allow even his own mentor to make a weapon of his son.

Dumbledore believed that what Harry had done once, he would have to do again, more permanently. If Voldemort had identified Harry as a threat, he would target him again, and compel him to fulfill the prophecy one way or another. It was Dumbledore's intention to prolong this interlude as long as possible, to allow Harry a chance to grow into his full strength before once again facing his destiny. As much as James applauded the intention, he did not quite sympathize with the Headmaster's motives. Of course Harry would need to be protected from any gathering threat. But he would receive that protection out of a father's love, and not as a pawn to secure the future of the wizarding world. Harry was already carrying enough of a burden on his shoulders.

Hogwarts, safe as it was, could not be a permanent solution. Dumbledore had no position to offer James on the faculty, and it was unlikely that James would have accepted. Dumbledore had once entertained hopes of eventually luring Lily on to his staff, but he knew that James, at least at this point in his life, was not suited for a teaching position. Unfortunately, there was almost nowhere in the wizarding world that would be as safe for Harry to remain in. Dumbledore needed to discuss the options with James, who had insisted that Sirius and Remus also were also to be a part of the conversation.

"The most important thing right now is to ensure Harry's safety. We know now that he is the one who must fulfill the prophecy."

"He is just a little boy who has lost his mother, Headmaster. It was Lily's sacrifice that thwarted Voldemort, wasn't it? It was nothing that Harry did himself. And you said yourself that the prophecy might easily have come to nothing."

"Nevertheless, he has now been marked by Voldemort. That choice has given the prophecy force, and we must accept that Harry is the chosen one. We all understand what you and Harry have been through in the past few days, but..."

"With all due respect, Headmaster, I'm not sure you do understand. I'm not sure anyone in our world understands. Everyone is celebrating, because they think Voldemort is gone. Those of us who think he will return are plotting, treating my son as a chess piece because of the ravings of an attention-seeking fraud. Who is mourning Lily? Who remembers that the Boy Who Lived is a boy who is crying for his mother while his father is stuck in deliberations about what must be done to ensure the safety of the Wizarding World?"

Quite apart from James's emotions in this matter, this was a challenge Dumbledore ought to have foreseen but somehow hadn't. James had never questioned the empirical fact that Voldemort was threatening his little family, and had taken all the necessary precautions, but he had always ridiculed the basis for the threat, especially after he had encountered Sybil Trelawney in person. In the heat of the moment on Halloween night, he had not queried Dumbledore's expectation that he would find Harry alive, but now in planning for his future, James was reluctant to admit that his son still held the key to Voldemort's destruction.

Dumbledore, of course, quite sympathized with James's position; he was not overly enamored of divination himself, and would not allow it to be taught at his school were it not for the need to protect the very same seer who had made this particular pronouncement. He was reconciled to the fact that she would likely never make another prediction worth hearing, but since the Dark Lord had become aware of this particular prophecy and its maker, he could not afford to send her into the world and take the risk of Voldemort or his followers attempting to use her to obtain the prophecy.

But Dumbledore knew that the prophecy he had heard, powerful as it was, had held little innate force until the events of Halloween. In acting precipitately as he had, Voldemort had himself invoked the prophecy that now held the key to his downfall. He had marked Harry, and at this point, it was futile to deny that Harry was the chosen one, with the power to defeat Voldemort. Yet Dumbledore also understood, as James seemed not to, that Harry would not be forced into this destiny; when the time came, he would choose it freely. That day would have to be postponed as long as possible, and the path towards it carefully prepared. Dumbledore had no intention of allowing a child to fight a man's war, or placing on him the burden of a predetermined fate. But at this point it was futile to deny that all of their efforts would center around young Harry Potter, however reluctant his father might be to admit it. This was a discussion that could continue ad infinitum, and was ultimately incidental to the decision they had to make today.

"James, I'm sure that's not what the Headmaster meant. But you must concede that there are still any number of Death Eaters on the loose, and more are slipping through the cracks every day. Harry's an obvious target. We do have to do everything we can to keep him safe."

It was Remus, the peace-maker of the group, who had interceded. Dumbledore gratefully acknowledged his assistance.

"But if Lily died to protect Harry, and that protection allowed him to defeat Voldemort, shouldn't that still keep him safe?"

"Harry will always carry the mark of his mother's sacrifice, James. It's likely that will provide him with some protection against Voldemort in the future. But it certainly doesn't mean that he's invulnerable."

"I'll be there to protect him. He'll be perfectly safe."

"We'll all be there. We would die to protect him."

This was from Sirius. James gave him a wan smile in acknowledgement; Sirius's promise hit little too close to home. It was Dumbledore who interrupted the strangely awkward moment between the two friends who were more than brothers.

"There is another matter we need to discuss. I was going to postpone it for the time being, but since it is pertinent to our current discussion we probably should begin to address it now. You three do realize that Voldemort managed to survive the killing curse when it rebounded on him?"

"I'll take your word for it, Headmaster, but how is that possible?"

"You may as well ask how Harry survived, Sirius. The killing curse in its current form is a relatively recent refinement, and it was thought to be infallible. But there are some very ancient forms of magic that protected against its precursors. Lily invoked one such form, a binding magical contract based on her own sacrifice – a life for a life draws on a notion of balancing that is at the heart of nearly all magic. There are other, darker defenses possible – acts that defy nature can provide protection against the end that nature intended. It is not a cost that most wizards are willing to contemplate, but Tom Riddle has never been an ordinary wizard."

"A horcrux."

It was Sirius who spoke again, in a hushed tone. Remus looked up, sharply, to see that Dumbledore was eyeing Sirius speculatively.

"May I ask you what you know on that subject, Sirius?"

"Everything the library at the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black could teach me, Headmaster, which, you must admit, is a great deal."

"A rather morbid subject for a fifteen-year-old's reading, I should have imagined."

"Thirteen, you mean. It was all Regulus's doing. He dared me to bring him one of the books from the cursed shelves the summer before I left. Of course I wasn't about to let him have it without knowing what he was up to."

"Be that as it may, do you know how one is made?"

"I don't know the incantations involved, if that's what you mean. I know that to do it you must take a human life. It's no surprise to anyone that Voldemort's done that, surely. It's not like we didn't have armies of inferi to remind us of that."

"Tom Riddle, then, is his name?" It was James who interrupted this strand of conversation.

"Yes. Not too many people know it, but he was once one of our brightest students here at Hogwarts. Prefect and Head boy. Of course after he left Hogwarts he pursued an entirely different course of study. By the time he emerged as Lord Voldemort there were very few in the wizarding world who would have recognized him. Immortality was his ultimate aim, of course, but he subjected himself to some very dark transformations in his quest for a perfectly invulnerable self. For many years now, I have made something of a project of tracking down as many memories as I can find about Riddle and his quest. Remus here has been helping me research into the transformations he had undergone."

"Was that why you were always poring over volumes and volumes of dark materials, Remus? Why didn't you tell us what you were up to?"

"Well, I never really found anything that was going to help us immediately. And I felt a little silly not to be out there fighting with the rest of you. I never once actually faced him. It all seemed rather arcane and academic at the time."

Dumbledore interrupted.

"It was necessary, Remus, and our knowledge will undoubtedly remain our most valuable weapon. What we need to do now is to delay his return to a corporeal body for as long as possible."

"How would he do that?"

"I have no doubt he will eventually find that he is able to possess the bodies of animals, and even humans. But none of his hosts will be able to support him for very long, so he really is rather vulnerable. One obvious way would be for him to achieve what he has been trying to do all along, and become immortal."

"But that's impossible!"

"Of course it isn't, Sirius. All he would need is the Philosopher's Stone."

"Very good, James."

"But there aren't any Philosopher's Stones still in existence, are there, Headmaster?"

"There is one that I know of, belonging to Nicholas Flamel, a dear friend of mine. I am certain that Voldemort knows of its existence. Fortunately, Nicholas and Perenelle have led a very quiet life in recent years. Voldemort never did succeed in following their tracks from when they left Paris four centuries ago, but it is quite likely that he knows where the Stone is."

"Then why didn't he try to obtain it?"

"He has tried, James, though it was not his primary objective at the time. I can only speculate, but I believe that he considered his problem solved, or very nearly so; the exact process of securing his return was not an immediate concern since he had no intention of losing his corporeal self. Even so, most people never discovered what he was after. You do recall that Voldemort's followers did not quite succeed in penetrating the high security vaults at Gringotts?"

"So the Philosopher's Stone is quite safe then."

"I wish I could be certain of that, James. Our Gringotts goblins value their independence, and they have stood up admirably to Voldemort, even if our Ministry has sometimes lamented their neutrality. But there are smaller, more vulnerable bands of goblins in Eastern Europe who don't have the same stakes in finance. They generally avoid wizards altogether, but at the right price, I fear they may be persuaded to share their secrets."

"What are we going to do about it, then?"

"Unless we have a reason to believe that Voldemort has returned to Britain I don't think we need to move it. There are very few places in Britain that would be any safer. I would keep it at Hogwarts if I could be sure that I would be here to guard it, but with the rebuilding efforts and my responsibilities in the Wizengamot now that the war is over I cannot guarantee that I will always be present. It would be much harder and more conspicuous for Nicholas and his wife to obtain the elixir they need from here. And I would rather not draw attention to it by constantly shifting its location. None of the Death Eaters will be able to breach Gringotts without a lot of assistance."

"You said this was the most obvious way, Headmaster. Are there other ways for Voldemort to return?"

"I'm fairly certain that there are other methods, James. This is where I hope Remus will be able to help us."

"There was one ritual I found, many years ago, in fact, when I was still looking for a cure for my lycanthropy. There were some theories that posited that the condition would not follow if one were to fashion a new body altogether. Unfortunately, the consequences of fashioning a new body were entirely too steep, but it did appear to be possible. There was one case, over a thousand years ago, where a witch's body was destroyed in a fire when she was out of her body possessing another mind. It was before the magical arts were divided into the modern fields we recognize. This ritual seemed to be a combination of a potion, some advanced transfiguration, blood charms, elements of necromancy. Dark magic, of course. If I remember correctly, the incantation went something like this... _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, will renew your son; Flesh of the servant, willingly given, will revive your master; Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, will resurrect your foe_. Rather gruesome stuff. I imagine there may be other rituals along the same lines."

"And Voldemort knows about this?"

"When it comes to the Dark Arts, Sirius, we must assume that Voldemort knows more than we do. He has resources we simply do not have or could not use."

"So how can we stop him?"

"We have to be as vigilant as possible. We certainly cannot prevent him from extracting sacrifices from his willing servants, but there are other things we can control."

"The bone of the father – is that literal or figurative? Because if it means precisely what it says we should be able to prevent this rather easily, I should think. How difficult would it be to trace a graveyard?"

"That's an excellent thought, Sirius. It is impossible to say, of course, and there are problems of translation as well, but in magical rituals the most literal interpretation is often the most powerful – it's usually Muggles who run away with fanciful figurative readings. There may be alternatives, but I have no doubt that the most straightforward invocation of the ritual would involve his birth father's bones. I can't imagine Tom Riddle will enjoy the thought of having to rely on his Muggle father for this."

"And what about the blood of the enemy?"

"I won't lie to you, James. It's almost certain that Voldemort will want to use Harry's blood. Both for vengeance and because he will want the protection Lily's blood offers Harry. It may well be his undoing, if he uses blood so steeped in love, but I doubt he will think of that. It is magic of the sort he has always underestimated. But there is always a chance that Voldemort will use someone else. It is impossible that we will be able to keep all us who opposed him safe, especially when so many believe that he is gone forever."

"It comes down to the bone of the father, then?"

"Eventually, yes. For now it comes down to keeping Harry safe. He is the most at risk, both from Voldemort himself and from his Death Eaters who remain here in England. It is almost certain that at least some of them will try to avenge him."

"We will keep him safe. I could perform a fidelius for him, couldn't I?"

"That is one safeguard, James, but it does put you and others who know the identity of the secret keeper at risk. And I think all of us know by now that secret keepers are not invulnerable."

"So we'll have to find a way to protect the secret-keeper as well."

"I should tell you, James, that Harry would be best protected by the blood magic that Lily has already invoked. If he makes his home with Lily's blood relatives he can never be touched there."

"Lily has no relatives except for that awful sister of hers, Headmaster. She'd never let us live with them. They're the worst sort of Muggles. They didn't even come to the funeral."

"Would they take Harry? I believe they have a son of roughly the same age."

"You can't be suggesting that, Headmaster. I'm his father. I'm the only family he has now."

"You can't raise him in our wizarding world, James. He'd never be safe. And besides, it wouldn't be very good for him. He'd be a celebrity for something he won't even be able to remember."

"Then we'll go abroad."

"I think that might be worse. You'd be even more conspicuous as a foreigner living abroad. Besides which, Voldemort is still traveling on the Continent, and we aren't exactly sure where he'll end up. I'd feel safer if you were a little closer to home, James."

"Well, I'm not giving up my son. What else would you suggest?"

Remus suddenly smiled.

"Hiding right under everyone's noses, then, Headmaster? In the Muggle world?"

James blinked.

"As a Muggle? That's an idea."

"Do you think you'd be able to manage, James? A young father in an inconspicuous city neighborhood?"

"With his best friend."

"That's hardly necessary, Sirius."

"Of course it is. If I didn't go with you I'd visit so often your cover would be blown. What have I got to stay for anyhow, if it isn't you? Or should I just go kiss and make up with dear old Mum and Dad now that Regulus was foolish enough to turn Death-Eater and die?"

"I'd prefer that we fight this out just the once, so you should know that I'm coming too. You two couldn't manage without magic for a week."

As James stared at him, Remus started to equivocate.

"I mean, I'll get a flat nearby or something. Obviously I understand you don't want me too close to Harry."

"Remus, will you stop assuming that everything in life comes down to your furry little problem? Does it occur to you that I might be surprised that you would want to disrupt your life like that?"

Remus laughed.

"You know I can never keep a straight face when you say that. But why should you be surprised, after what you've done for me? And what do I have to stay for here? My stunning job prospects, or the throngs of people clamoring to be my friends? I'd half a mind to disappear into the Muggle world after the war ended regardless of how things turned out. This just gives me a much better reason and excellent company."

Dumbledore sighed, but the twinkle in his eye gave away his true feelings on the matter.

"I suppose I should have foreseen that this is how it would end up if I allowed all of you to enter this discussion. Three men and a baby. Not the most typical living situation, but Muggles have seen far stranger things. Of course, you'll have to take the necessary precautions, Remus, but with your friends around I don't anticipate you'll have much trouble. I suppose I should congratulate you on your achievement, whatever troubles they may be causing us at the moment."

James, Sirius, and Remus shared a look that Dumbledore knew from long experience to be a harbinger of every sort of mischief imaginable. It was Sirius, however, who put everyone's feelings into words.

"Those Muggles won't know what hit them."


	4. There's a Place

**Chapter 4: There's a Place**

It was a perfectly ordinary day on Cranberry Lane when a new family moved in to an empty row house down the street. There were thousands of families raising young children in East London, after all. No one remembered seeing a moving truck bring their furniture, but it had been a working day when they first appeared in the neighborhood, and everyone had been busy with school and work, after all. Neither was it particularly strange that the household seemed to consist of three grown men and a baby just over a year old, not to mention the large black dog that was sometimes seen sunning itself in the patio garden. (No one ever seriously believed that a handsome stag had occasionally been spotted in there as well; who would keep such a pet in a London row house?) It was nearly 1982, after all, not the Dark Ages, and the modern urban family came in all sorts of interesting combinations and permutations. Still, it quickly became established in the neighborhood that the young father was the recently widowed James Potter, who had moved into the little house on Cranberry Lane because his old house reminded him too much of his dead wife, and the other two men were his best friends from school, were helping him settle in to their new surroundings.

It took James a little while to grow accustomed to the little brick house; it was smaller than he would have liked, and much too modern for his tastes. He would have preferred a nice Georgian somewhere near the West End, but Remus had pointed out that there was no need to draw attention by appearing to be conspicuously wealthy, and that Harry would be far less noticeable, and happier, in a neighborhood full of children. Since Remus was the resident Muggle expert in Lily's absence, James had bowed to his pronouncement, and even he and Sirius, as well as Harry, were pleased with the little patio garden out back.

The household they ultimately established, however, was not so much a Muggle home as a well concealed hybrid. It was owl-repellent, which made it hard for anyone from the magical world to find them in the usual way. Unfortunately, it also meant that they would find it difficult to get in touch with the wizarding world. They had set up owl post-boxes at the post office in Diagon Alley, but they checked those irregularly and often in disguise. For the Daily Prophet, James had devised an ingenious solution. Since Dumbledore liked his morning paper ironed every morning, James had introduced his house-elf to a Protean Press Copier whose secondary purpose of transmitting a crease-free copy to the ironing board on Cranberry Street was unknown to practically everyone, including the house-elves who used it.

There was no fireplace in the house, Muggle or magical, since floo connections had to be registered with the Ministry, and even unlisted fires could be broken into, but the pier glass in the dining room was a large two way mirror connected directly to Dumbledore's office. James had refused pointblank to be parted from Lily's portrait, which hung in pride of place in Harry's nursery so that she could watch over him. He had also brought over portraits of his ancestors to hang in the other rooms so that Lily would be able to travel around the house, and would have someone to visit with when she was alone. Of course, the older Potters didn't take particularly kindly to being told to freeze in their frames whenever the doors were open, or visitors were allowed into the house. Fortunately, Lily had always gotten along famously with James's family portraits, unlike James himself, whose adolescent antics had never sat well with some of his more stuffy ancestors. She was the one who was ultimately able to persuade them to make a game of playing dead when there were Muggles in the house. James had also magically expanded several parts of the compact house, creating a comfortable study for himself and his friends, and of course a large secured and sound-proofed basement for Remus's transformations that was roomy enough for one or two large animals to keep a werewolf company. Neither did they refrain from day to day use of magic within the house; Remus had been right in saying that James and Sirius were rather inept without their wands, and individual spells, after all, were not easily traceable magic in a metropolis with hundreds if not thousands of wizards.

The largest and cheeriest bedroom in the house was Harry's nursery, which was painted light blue, with a scarlet and gold trim. James and Sirius had insisted on the Gryffindor indoctrination, while Remus had pointed out that a pure red and gold was far too gloomy for a toddler, and in any case, would make the room look too small. There were no Quidditch posters, as James had wanted, since even Sirius could not get the players to stop showing off their stunts and freeze in mid-air, and besides, Lily wasn't too keen on sharing wall space with them, but they had found a cheery wall parchment with a pattern of moving broomsticks and quaffles and bludgers, with an occasional snitch glinting here and there. Remus had come up with a simple charm to freeze the pattern when necessary, and James, who was endlessly fascinated by Muggle technology, had managed to hook up the charm to respond to a switch on the wall for easy wandless access.

For household chores, the three men shifted well enough with the help of a few domestic and cookery spell books, as well as Remus's Muggle volumes on the same subjects. James had wanted to bring along a house-elf or two, especially since the Potter elves were devoted to young Harry, but Dumbledore had drawn the line there. Nevertheless, James had refused to abandon the elves at his parents' old mansion, worried that they would go batty without any humans to take care of, and neither did he want to give the faithful creatures clothes, or abandon them to the Ministry's Relocation Office, where someone might try and trace him through them. Finally, to avoid a standoff on the subject, Dumbledore had agreed to take them in at Hogwarts, although they proudly continued to wear dishcloths with the Potter insignia rather than the Hogwarts crest.

All three men had enthusiastically thrown themselves into the task of setting up the house and settling in. But as he grew confident of their ability to manage to remain inconspicuous in a Muggle neighborhood, Remus started spending more time out of the house. For the time being, the war had ended and the Order was all but disbanded, but he was still taking his research for Dumbledore seriously, knowing that Voldemort would one day return, and more certain than James was that they were responsible for raising a little boy who would one day vanquish Voldemort once and for all. Remus knew that he had an important role in caring for and raising Harry, and perhaps he would be the one to ensure that Harry also would be his mother's son rather than just his father's. But Remus also had another agenda. While he had agreed to live with James, he had no intention of being a freeloader. In the wizarding world, he was a half-breed who would never be able to hold down a job if anyone suspected his true nature. In the Muggle world, no one would imagine that he was anything other than sickly, or suffering from a chronic condition. And with the twin marvels of anti-discriminatory legislation and freelance employment, he hoped, for just the second time in his life, to be able to hold his own with his peers.

Sirius had started spending the evenings at the pub, which was hardly a surprise, given his fondness for boisterous company. He quickly found casual drinking mates with whom he shared Muggle beer and outrageous stories about his motorcycle escapades. Unable to talk Quidditch, he had started to learn the intricacies of football, and to throw himself into the fate of the local team. But James noticed in dismay that around his two best friends, Sirius was growing sullen, and had taken to spending entirely too much time as Padfoot. Exercising a restraint he wouldn't even consider for nearly anyone else, James merely observed this behavior for a few days, not even discussing his concerns with Remus, before deciding that some intervention was necessary. He asked Lily to stay in the room with Harry, whom he left in his playpen with his charmed Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot plush toys dancing a jig, after placing a monitoring charm to alert him in case of any problems.

He made his way out to the garden, where Padfoot was sprawled out on the flagstones, absorbing the weak winter sun, and took a seat next to across from him, carefully facing just slightly away. He conjured an old and much battered snitch and released it, catching it reflexively just as it was about to spring out of reach. He was rewarded with an undignified canine snort, and smirked, setting the snitch loose again. It was only a matter of time now; he wouldn't need to resort to Prongs's rather less tactful methods of persuasion. Sure enough, before James had completed his third catch, Sirius was facing him, his handsome face disfigured by a sullen pout.

"Waiting for Wormtail to crawl out of the bushes and wet himself with excitement? Interesting strategy, but I doubt it'll work."

"No, waiting for Padfoot to tell me off, actually."

"Consider it done."

"Not so hasty, if you please. I didn't go to all that trouble just so you can dismiss me and stay out here moping."

"I am not moping! Besides, I've a perfect right to stay out here moping if I wanted to."

"Not unless we sort this out. You should know I'll beat your secrets out of you if I have to."

"I don't have any secrets, remember?"

"Then why are you the one sitting out here moping? By all rights I rather think that's my job at the moment."

"You can't mope. You've got a son to take care of. Lily'd have your hide if you let yourself sink into self-pity."

"She'll have yours the minute you go inside unless you tell me what's going on. She thinks you've been neglecting your godson. So do I, for that matter. What's going on?"

"You're not going to drop this, are you, Prongs?"

"You should know me better than that by now."

Sirius paused, looking away.

"I was thinking about Regulus, if you must know."

"Regulus?"

"Yes, he was my brother, you know."

"Yes, I do remember. I also remember you saying six years ago that I was the only brother you'd ever need, and six months ago when we heard the news you said good riddance, and Lily cuffed you, and you never spoke of it again. Why were you suddenly thinking about Regulus?"

"I talked to Moody a few days ago. He mentioned something. Did you know that he was killed by Death Eaters? I always thought it was our side that took him down. Thought he was a loyal follower. Turns out he was trying to get out."

"I never properly heard what had happened."

"Never made it anywhere near the inner circle, obviously. The silly git didn't realize what that crowd was capable of before he got in too deep. You would think growing up with Bellatrix around the house he would have known they would stop at nothing. Regulus always was rather squeamish. Mother liked that about him."

"Do you think you should have saved him, then?"

"I'm not his keeper. If that's the crowd he wanted to run with he got what was coming to him. Besides, I couldn't stand him. Right little swot he was, on top of everything else. I'm not looking to replace you for a brother, James."

"What's bothering you, then?"

"Have you heard about the trials over at the Ministry? Malfoy got off two days ago. Says it was Imperius. Voldemort's right hand, getting off on Imperius. Bought off half the jury, of course. Even Crouch couldn't pull off a conviction. Extracted an apology from the Minister, no less. Now they're stepping on tiptoes. Crouch is furious at Crafte & Guyle, but there were no formal links with Voldemort, and of course the solicitors aren't actually allowed at trial. Guyle's too much of a coward to have gone over to the Dark side, anyway. Bella and her husband haven't even been charged, for lack of evidence. Were they supposed to leave calling cards? Have they even talked to her? I'm sure she's still spouting off about her devotion to her master. And Regulus, right little fool that he was, was the only one to manage to get himself killed. The old hag must be proud, if this is what the Noble and Most Ancient House has come to. The last of the Blacks in the direct line. Wonder if she'll try and adopt Narcissa's brat, though I doubt Malfoy would let her."

"Do you want to go see your Mum? Grimmauld Place is just across town."

"Merlin's beard, no! I'd rather marry Kreacher. I'm happy to stay disowned, thank you very much. All the half-decent ones get burnt off the family tree; you know that."

"Sirius, mate, you're my brother, but you are still a Black. And there were some decent ones in the crowd, you know."

Sirius laughed humorlessly.

"Who? Araminta Meliflua? Old Phineas Nigellus, who never missed a chance to tell on me when I got pulled into Dumbledore's office? I never thanked him for getting me burnt off the tree, d'you know? It was all his doing, after the, umm... incident with Snivelly and Moony. Went and reported straight to the Mater out of sheer spite. It's not like he could stand her company either."

James blinked. Although he and his friends discussed every subject unreservedly they almost never mentioned that particular incident unprovoked, Sirius especially. It was one of the few fault lines in the otherwise strong friendship they all shared. James had once raged at Sirius, willing some sense into him to make him understand the magnitude of what he had done. But Remus, after one painful confrontation in which he conveyed to Sirius the extent of his betrayal without losing his composure, which had somehow made it all the worse for Sirius, had treated the subject as closed.

James had rapidly done some growing up of his own in the aftermath of the narrowly averted disaster. Knowing it was not his place to interfere in that delicate rebuilt accord, he had dropped the subject and had let Sirius be, leaving him to learn his own lessons. This was nearly the first time they had talked about it since then. Even Lily had never quite known how James had finally learnt responsibility.

Yet James knew, with all the certainty of a long and intimate association, that Sirius was capable of murder, an act that he himself, even in the heat of battle, would never be able to contemplate. James had never spoken of this realization with anyone. He knew that Remus too probably understood it at some level, yet Remus had to live with the fear of hurting someone inadvertently in a way that James and Sirius would never experience, which undoubtedly colored his perspective. Sirius was different; it was the intensity and the brilliance of the Blacks he so despised raging in his veins that made him capable of great or terrible things. James understood this, and he made it his job to protect and insulate Sirius from his dangerous impulses. It had never made him think any worse of Sirius; with the unquestioning acceptance of real friendship he took Sirius for exactly what he was. It was this impulse that had made him extract from Sirius the promise not to go after Wormtail, even at a time when he himself was in utter shock and mourning, and he did not intend to release his friend from that promise. Without it, there would be little to keep Sirius from taking upon himself the responsibility of judge, jury, and executioner, and while James certainly thought that Sirius was capable of taking Wormtail on, he did not intend to sit back and watch his friend buy himself a one-way ticket to Azkaban to satisfy his sense of vigilante justice.

Of course, James had too much respect for his friend's feelings to put any of his own into words right now. He spoke lightly, looking for Sirius's response.

"She burnt you off the family tree for trying to rid the world of Snape?"

"No, actually, it was for failing to finish the job and getting the werewolf put down. That was what really did it for me, you know? I never really understood, before that, what it meant. We tried to take Snape out every year without fail. She didn't care so much about that, although it was a bit undignified to be bombarded with all those Hogwarts owls. Family of shopkeepers, after all. Hardly worth concerning herself over, even if the mother's bloodline was pure enough, and the boy had had the good sense to get himself sorted into Slytherin, which was more than I was able to manage. I didn't think I could be less like her, yet I was Black enough to use one of my best friends as a murder weapon. I don't know why you and Remus give me the time of day."

"Sirius, mate, that was years ago. Why are you still beating yourself up about it? Remus would never hold it against you. I, well, I think you're a bit of a prat, but then so am I. Why are you brooding on the Blacks now all of a sudden? We're your family, now."

"Don't you see, James? I thought, when I walked out that door, that I was free, that I could just leave all of that behind. I knew your family would take me in, and I had Uncle Alphard and Andie and Ted. I had us. But it never goes away, does it? I'm still a Black. I still carry all of that darkness. I'm still capable of letting down my best friends – I've betrayed Remus, and you, though you'll never say anything. I can't help thinking about Regulus, the poor fool, that it would have been better for him to stick it out for a few months instead of trying to get out of it like that."

"Of course you're thinking about Regulus, mate. It's only natural. He was a bright kid. We all know he wasn't the worst of them; probably didn't deserve what he got. About the other thing, you've got to get your head around the fact that you didn't betray anybody. It was Peter who betrayed us all. So you suspected the wrong person; it happens. He covered his tracks well, and none of us really suspected anything. Have you had this out with Remus?"

"Yes. He said it wasn't my fault. What was he supposed to say? I was practically falling apart in front of him."

"He said what he meant and you know it. Moony wouldn't sugarcoat his words with you. He only does that when he's having someone on. Besides, you're just trying to sidetrack me into blaming you, aren't you? That's what this is about."

"Why not? You should blame me. Lily should blame me."

"I'm not blaming you because you didn't do anything, and because when you don't act like a great big prat I actually like having you around. Vain as you are you should know that so much self-pity isn't particularly attractive. You made a mistake. Get over it. We need your help now."

"That's it? That's all you're going to say?"

"On that subject, yes. That's not the real point here, is it? This isn't about my forgiveness. This is about your promise."

"Damn it, James! If you understand that then why do you have me locked away here in your garden when I should be out there hunting down the traitor?"

"There are Aurors out there to apprehend criminals. It's not your job!"

"When has that ever stopped us before, Prongs? This is my responsibility; you know it is. And you know we can do this better than those Aurors can. They don't know him like we do."

"I doubt that's true anymore, Sirius. We never thought he was capable of this. The Aurors are trained to look for people like him."

"We just fought a war, James. Don't tell me that we aren't capable of this. Don't you want justice for Lily? Don't you think that's the least you ought to receive?"

"Voldemort is gone because of what Lily accomplished. What good would a pound of Wormtail's flesh do me now?"

"This isn't just about you, Prongs. He's a danger out there. The Wizarding World deserves justice, or this war will never leave us, really. People are still scared to say Voldemort's name; what if it's still that way ten years from now? We need to end this war now."

"If you believe Dumbledore, we can't."

"We should be the last people sitting around waiting for the war to catch up with us, then. There are people out there who have fought us once and will happily fight us again."

"As long as people think the war has ended we can't fight like we're in combat mode. Run for the Wizengamot if you must see justice done."

"Run from where? Father's pocket borough of Blackburn-far-under-the-sea? I doubt the family ghosts would approve. And no open seat is open to a Black. I'd lose in a landslide."

"I'd say you'd best work on making yourself popular then, mate. There'll be no vigilante justice on my watch. It's not like hexing Snape at Hogwarts. Someone has to think about the consequences."

"You have changed, mate. The consequences are what would have made it fun, before."

"I haven't changed all that much. Don't you think I want to go after him sometimes? But I have to stop and think, for Harry's sake, and so should you. We can't go getting ourselves dead or landed in Azkaban. You heard what Dumbledore thinks. He wanted to pack my son off to that self-righteous shrew in Surrey without so much as a by-your-leave. I shudder to think what he'd do if we weren't here. Savior of the wizarding world or no, my son's already lost one parent. He's not losing the rest of us."

"That's it, then? You'll just let Wormtail go like that?"

"I wouldn't say he's going unpunished. Every government in Europe is chasing after him and he's stuck as a fugitive rodent. It's not particularly easy being a rat in England right now. For all we know the fumigators have got him already."

"You know exactly how unlikely that is. The odds are that he's already out of England and looking for Voldemort. And sooner or later that means trouble."

"I understand as well as you that we haven't seen the end of all the trouble we will see in our lifetimes yet. I just refuse to go looking for it. There are more important things to concentrate on right now."

Sirius looked away momentarily, as though considering what to say, then looked back, and spoke deliberately, measuring his words in a manner that was utterly foreign to him.

"I understand that you need to be a good parent right now, and I know you feel closer to Lily that way. But that can't be the only thing you do, James. You need something more than that in your life, and so do all of us."

James's first reaction was a denial, but as he thought about it he didn't have any reason to contradict Sirius's words.

"Fair enough. But I'm not the one sitting out here brooding. And whatever you may think, revenge is not the answer either. If there's something more I need to do, it'll find me. What about you?"

"I don't want to leave behind this war halfway through, James. There were times during the war when I thought we could never do enough. Now I feel as though we can't do anything at all."

"We've had this war hanging over us for more than half of our lives. It's always been the background of everything we've done or thought about. I don't want that background for Harry. Someday the peace will end. We will have to fight; Harry will have to fight. Until then I want Harry to be a child. I don't want my best friends to brood over a traitor. Peter is lost, Sirius, but he doesn't have to take us with him."

Sirius nodded tightly, and looked away, closing his eyes in the sun. James wasn't completely satisfied, but he knew his friend well enough to let it rest. He went back up to Harry's nursery, where Lily was singing to Harry, who was trying to sing along, clapping his chubby hands enthusiastically. James conjured a bunch of colorful butterfly snitches, and Harry shrieked with delight as he and James went after them before they vanished. Ten minutes later, when Sirius came up and joined the melee, contributing a set of butterscotch bludgers, James looked up at Lily's portrait, and smiled.


	5. Nowhere Man

**Chapter 5: Nowhere Man**

Harry painstakingly rolled the last bit of his plasticine into a final colorful ball, and arranged it on the ground with all the others. He tugged hopefully on James's trouser legs, and pointed at the balls when James looked down.

"Fly them," he said, waving his arms as if to demonstrate what he wanted.

James sighed. Whipping his wand out to oblige Harry simply wasn't an option here in the public park. Harry probably was old enough to understand the difference between home and public spaces, but he certainly had no notion yet that there were certain things wizards simply couldn't do in plain sight of Muggles, even if they weren't hiding to protect the Boy Who Lived. He wondered whether this might be one of the reasons so many Muggleborns seemed to leave the Muggle world behind and get almost entirely absorbed into wizarding culture. Remus had been going on for weeks about how Harry's games were much too magic dependent, but James hadn't really thought much of it until he had started bringing Harry out here in the mornings to make a few friends. Thankfully, Harry was young enough that his demands simply struck the other parents as fanciful, but James knew that this was only confusing his son, who knew very well that his father could easily fulfill his simple requests. He also knew that if this kept up Harry would eventually realize that he could levitate these balls himself, and that might easily bring out the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, which would mean destroying their incognito existence. He really would have to think of some other toys for his son.

"I can't, Harry."

"Can, Daddy. Show me wand."

"No, Harry. Not here."

"Fly, please!"

"No, Harry."

Harry stared up mournfully with those eyes of Lily's that James found nearly impossible to resist, then turned away abruptly, and tried to find another amusement. He abandoned his plasticine and toddled over to the sandbox where he started digging with his little plastic spade, with no apparent intention of making anything with all the sand he sent flying. Several other children were playing in there – one little girl was smoothing out the moat around a surprisingly elaborate castle, and a dark boy who looked to be just a few months older than Harry was drawing figures in the sand with a tree branch. James, who had come closer to keep an eye on his son, saw that the drawing, of a lion, was surprisingly good for a child of his age.

"Look, lion."

Harry looked up at that, and pointed at the drawing. "Gryff-dor," he said, knowledgeably.

"Lion!" protested his companion.

"Gryff-dor is lion!" Harry insisted.

"Gryff-dor his name?"

Harry nodded.

"Funny name."

Harry shrugged. "Lions Gryff-dor. Gryff-dor brave. Gryff-dor special."

James chuckled. Sirius would be delighted to learn that his brainwashing had been so successful, but perhaps Remus would be a little concerned that Harry was trying to win converts here in a Muggle park. James didn't think there was anything to worry about; Harry hadn't said anything particularly hard to explain away so far, and in any case, his audience was hardly likely to interrogate him.

"There you are, Dean. Have you made a new friend?"

A handsome woman had come up beside James, clearly the boy's mother. Her hair was done up in an elaborate pattern of braids, and she spoke with a hint of a Jamaican accent. Something about her seemed faintly familiar to James.

Young Dean nodded uncertainly at his mother, then looked at Harry.

"My friend?"

Harry nodded vigorously. He pointed at himself and said, "Me Harry."

"Dean," said his new friend.

This was satisfactory for the two boys. They traded implements, and Dean used Harry's spade to give the lion's mane more definition, while Harry scratched on the sand with Dean's stick. James realized that it was probably his turn to speak, and turned to introduce himself to Dean's mother.

"Hello, I'm James Potter, Harry's dad."

"I'm Althea." She hesitated for a moment. "Althea Thomas. I haven't seen you and Harry around the park here before."

"No, Harry and I just moved here about a month ago."

"Dean and I have been coming here since I first put him in a pram."

"He must have a lot of friends here."

"A few, but not as many as I'd like. Most of the children who come out to play are older than he is, and the little ones play with their brothers and sisters."

"So Dean's an only child, then?"

"Yes. What about Harry? Do you and your wife have any other children?"

"No. Harry was our first. Our only. I lost my wife a few months ago."

"I'm dreadfully sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"No, of course not. You couldn't have known. And I don't mind talking about Lily."

"No, I should have been quite a bit more sensitive, in my situation. I know exactly how awkward it is to be asked a question like that."

"Are you...?" James trailed off, awkwardly.

"Widowed? Not exactly."

Althea hesitated again, then turned to James with an air of resolution.

"I suppose I'd better tell you about me, before you hear anything from someone else. If the boys become good friends, you'll undoubtedly hear something. And I have nothing to hide. You see, my husband left me, barely two weeks after we were married. Long before we knew anything about Dean. It was a bit of a whirlwind romance, I suppose. We married in a registry office; it was all very quiet – he told me that he hadn't even told his parents about us yet. And then he up and vanished. The police never found anything, except that he had no papers, no records, not even a birth certificate. He was a complete imposter, apparently. You can imagine how my family and neighbors reacted. And he doesn't even know about Dean; that feels like the worst part, somehow. I always thought he loved children."

"I'm so very sorry. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you."

"Well, my family was here for me, even if they didn't exactly approve, and I suppose social services helped out a little. The hardest part was accepting that he would never come back. It just seemed like the sort of thing that happens in movies, not in real life. It was just so completely absurd to believe that a person could just vanish off the face of the earth like that, with no record of his existence."

"You never found anything about him?"

"The police said that he must have skipped out of the country under another name. He could be anywhere in the world. It's pretty clear by now that he's never coming back. He'd better not, for his own sake, at this point. I can't think what I'd do."

James was feeling terribly awkward. Despite the great strides he had made in growing up, he didn't consider tact to be a particular strength of his, and such revelations from a relative stranger made him a little uncomfortable. He knew that in moments like this there was a compassionate soothing thing to say, but he had not the slightest idea of what it was. He knew what he actually did want to say, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was terribly inappropriate. Yet as much as he might wish for Lily's empathy or even Remus's quiet consideration, he knew that his reaction was different, and he decided to give in to his curiosity.

"I know this might seem like a terribly impertinent question, but would you mind telling me what his name was?"

Althea gave him a strange look, but answered his question in an even tone.

"Lester Thomas. At least that was the only name he ever gave me."

"Thank you."

Althea nodded. She glanced back at Dean, who was now playing catch with Harry and his plasticine balls.

"I'd better get going, or I'll be late for work. I really only came by to pick Dean up."

"Goodbye, Althea. I look forward to seeing you soon."

"Goodbye, James."

She extricated her son from Harry and his toys expertly, and shushed the boy's protests as she strapped him into his pram. Looking back, she waved at Harry, nodded briefly at his father, and left at a rapid clip.

James looked on after her, wondering just how strange she really thought him to be. He knew he really had no business probing a painful subject that Althea was evidently doing her best to put behind her. Yet as much he respected Althea's quiet strength, and understood her resignation, James's perspective was necessarily a little different. He was a veteran, after all, of a major wizarding war. Such disappearances had been commonplace occurrences in his world for the last eleven years. Some the details of Death Eater activities were only just beginning to emerge; there were many more atrocities, he knew, that would probably forever go unacknowledged. And while the insularity of the wizarding world in general had fostered a common perception that it was only their community who had borne these losses, James knew better. Having married a Muggleborn witch, James was well aware the risks were in fact much greater for them and for their entirely defenseless Muggle relatives. Lily had lived in constant fear of her parents and sister becoming targets. Yet James had never properly considered the matter from the other perspective, of the Muggle survivors of a totally inexplicable tragedy. He wondered what the Ministry procedures were in such cases, and had a sinking feeling that they did not adequately support such survivors.

James did not know what exactly he meant by asking for Althea's husband's name. He had no particular reason to believe that this incident really had anything to do with the magic world. Neither did he have particularly strong contacts within the current ministry, and given his personal situation and his need to remain in hiding, there was little influence he could bring to bear. Yet James had never been one to let open questions remain open, and even if his own interest was nothing more than idle curiosity he intended to try and find something.

He wandered idly over to where Harry was sitting in sand, now combining all his plasticine balls into one. He picked up his son, who uttered an inarticulate protest.

"Oh, come on, Harry. You know it's time to go home. Besides, don't you want to play with Padfoot and Moony?"

The prospect of his favorite playmates seemed to mollify the restless boy, and he didn't give James any more trouble on the way home. James, however, was quite preoccupied. He didn't know how Dumbledore, or even his own friends, would respond to his latest resolution. Yet there was faint sense of familiarity nagging at him, little more than a sensation that there was a piece of a puzzle he had seen before and couldn't quite place now. His other motivation was a rather strange variation on empathy. Though James had carefully steered around the abyss of self-pity in trying to piece his life back together he did take a sort of warped pride in being the last casualty of the war. Looking at Althea, he realized that there were people whose tragedies were far more ragged and indefinite than his. James could not imagine living with that kind of uncertainty. But whether or not Althea's life had been touched by the same war as his, James had a sneaking feeling that there were hundreds of families out there, whose lives had been decimated by circumstances they simply had no comprehension of. Suddenly, the little world he had been living in, his happy little family of Harry, and Sirius, and Remus, began to feel a little too small. Perhaps Sirius had been right; perhaps he did need another reason in his life. The trouble was simply that he didn't have the slightest idea how to act this germ of a notion.

No one was in the house when James returned with Harry, but it wasn't long after James had fed Harry and sent him off reluctantly for a nap that he heard the latches turning. He went downstairs to find Remus entering, a shadow of a grin on his face.

"There you are. Just the man I wanted to talk to."

Remus smiled fully, and raised his eyebrows, inquisitively.

"Oh, come off it. It's not like I always go running off to Sirius."

No, you don't always. For instance, you invariably come running to me when you want to complain about Sirius, or, alternatively, when you need something."

"Are we feeling a little left out, Moony?"

"I'm not Harry, James. The baby talk stopped working a long time ago. I was just curious what you wanted."

"First things first. Why were you smiling?"

"I'm easily amused."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"Fair enough. I was going to tell all of you together, but I suppose Sirius can wait until this evening. I've just accepted a job offer."

"A job? You'll go off to work everyday like all the Muggles do? What about us?"

"I won't, actually, but I should point out that most wizards do the same. It's only Potters and Blacks and their unemployable friends who are any different."

"What kind of a job?"

"Freelance copy-editing." Remus laughed at James's blank look. "Basically, I go over manuscripts before they are published to edit them, and to catch any mistakes and such. I get to work from home, and I'm paid per book, so I have quite a bit of flexibility over how much I want to work."

"So basically you get to read books that haven't even come out yet and get paid for it? Congratulations, Moony! I can't imagine a job that would suit you better."

"Thanks. I'm looking forward to it."

"So what book have they given you to work on?"

"They started me off with a university textbook, actually. Rather ironic, given that I had to forge myself a degree. 'A Comprehensive Guide to Estates and Trusts.' I'm rather looking forward to learning something about that subject."

"Only you would, Remus."

"So why were you looking for me, anyway?"

"I don't know. Come, sit down here. I just wanted to talk something through. You're better at that than anybody I know."

"This sounds serious."

"Nothing to do with him, actually."

"James!"

"Sorry. It's just... you're a lot better at things like this than I am, but somehow I've got this stuck in my head, and I can't quite see where to go from here."

"I think you'd better just tell me what the matter is."

"Don't worry, Remus. It's nothing to do with me or Harry. I was just wondering, if there's an accident in the wizarding world, what do they do about notifying Muggles?"

"Well, they don't, James. You know that. If it was something that a lot of Muggles saw, they cover it up with some kind of a story, like a gas explosion or a freak storm or something."

"No, I know that. I mean, if there are Muggle relatives, what do they tell them?"

"In a family like mine, nothing. They usually leave it up to surviving wizarding relatives to come up with something. If the only survivors are Muggles, they have some kind of provision over at the Muggle Liaison Office. But I believe that only happens if the relatives are recorded in the Magical Registry. I'm not really very sure. You'd have to check with a solicitor. Why are you asking these kinds of questions, anyhow? Does this have something to do with Lily's sister?"

"No. I wrote to Petunia myself. She knows everything. No, I just met someone at the park, and I was wondering..."

"James, you didn't say anything, did you?"

"No, of course not. But she told me what happened to her, and it just sounded like it had to do with our war. Her husband disappeared about two weeks after they were married, and there was no sign of him after that. The Muggle police didn't find anything – even the normal sorts of things, birth certificate and all that. Told her he was probably some kind of imposter."

"And she just said all this to a stranger in the park?"

"It was a little odd, but she said there was a lot of gossip about it, and that if I was in the neighborhood I was bound to hear about it somehow."

"James, these kinds of things do happen to Muggles, you know. Not everything inexplicable has to do with us. That's why it's so easy for us to hide."

"I guess so. But there was just something very familiar about her. I felt like I should know about this, somehow. And I felt just awful for the kid, Remus. The father never even knew he existed."

"If there's a magical child, that makes it quite different, James. The Hogwarts Quill will put down the true name and the current address. Of course the Ministry doesn't keep tabs on it except to deal with accidental magic, but it should be fairly easy to find out."

"I didn't even think of that. This is why we need to have you around, Moony."

"I know. You only need me for my critical thinking."

"That's right, and don't you forget it."

Remus smirked.

"So, was Harry good in the park today?"

James groaned.

"Apart from wanting me to levitate his balls, and telling his new friend that Gryffindor lions are brave and special, he was absolutely perfect."

"Well, I suppose there's no harm done."

"No, but, you're right. I'll have to come up with some Muggle toys with him, especially if he's going to be making friends in the neighborhood."

"It's good for him to have friends in the neighborhood, James."

"I know. I'll think of something."

James smiled fondly, thinking of his son, then blinked, suddenly. Remus sighed, knowing from long experience that once an idea took hold of James, there was no telling how long it would take for the obsession to wear off.

"But Remus, there must be thousands of Muggles out there like this. Kids, friends, girlfriends, disappearing into thin air. Are you sure the Ministry doesn't tell them anything? There must be some way for them to know what's going on; they deserve better than a pack of lies or speculations."

"I don't know for sure, James. You'd have to check with the Ministry, or talk to your solicitors, or something."

James nodded, his lips pursed. Remus watched his friend. He wasn't sure where this particular interest would take James, but for the moment he decided it was probably healthy. Of course, it probably wasn't a very good idea for James to brood too much on the war, but then, it was a sign of healing that he was thinking of other peoples' problems instead of his own. And as much as Harry occupied and enlivened all of them, Remus shared Sirius's view that the little boy could not be the only thing in James's life, if for no other reason than that he would be smothered with attention.

It had crossed Remus's mind that James's interest here might be the woman herself, rather than her unfortunate plight, but he did not consider that to be particularly likely. James was very far from being over Lily, and it was entirely possible that he would never reach that point. In fact, as much as Remus liked Lily and enjoyed having her portrait roaming the house, he did wonder whether her constant presence wouldn't eventually make it difficult for James to rebuild his life. Surely it would be difficult for him to move on if Lily's facsimile was always there to remind him of what he had loved and lost. For now, Remus was content to file that thought away in the back of his head. He was perfectly willing to concede that so far, Lily had helped rather than hindered James's healing. James interacted naturally with Lily's portrait; he did not moon over her, nor was it likely that Lily would permit such behavior from him. Even in death, Remus reflected, Lily was around to make sure James remained sensible. Perhaps things were not so very different after all.

James sat up, interrupting Remus's reverie. That infectious smile was creeping on to his face, and Remus felt a familiar, pleasant sort of foreboding.

"So, Moony, what's this I hear about forging university degrees?"

Remus laughed. Not so very different indeed.


	6. Magical Mystery Tour

_Themes and imagery from Shakespeare (Hamlet) and Lord of the Rings. _**  
**

**Chapter 6: Magical Mystery Tour**

"Who's there?"

Remus turned around. He nearly faded into the twilight of the crisp English evening, all lines and angular planes, holding a walking stick and dressed in a nondescript overcoat over washed out corduroy trousers. He had dressed in this manner at least partly so that he could pass undetected, but he smiled pleasantly and nodded at the old man approaching him, holding up a hefty torch that lit up the grave behind them.

"Hello. I'm just having a look around. I was wondering if I could have a look at the church. I've heard a lot about the Lancaster stained glass."

"You'll have to come back tomorrow. The church's closed now. So's the graveyard. I'm afraid you'll have to leave. I'd just come by to lock things up for the night."

"Pity. I was just admiring some of these graves. Rather intricate, aren't they?"

"The Riddles? Fancy enough, I suppose, but those aren't the ones the people from the archeological society keep poking around in."

"I suppose not. They do rather catch the eye, though. I take it the Riddles were the squires around here?"

"For just about a century, which is old enough by some standards, I suppose. They certainly did build rather large houses to bury their dead in."

The old caretaker waved his torch around at a veritable necropolis of large, rather ornate looking mausoleums, inscribed with all sorts of figures. Remus tapped his walking stick on a rough looking inscription of a caduceus on one of the monuments, looking across the valley at a large house situated at some elevation. In the dying light the house had the grim presence of an eerie specter, its dark windows in stark contrast to the cheerily lit village below. In the fading light the house looked rather dismal, built in an undistinguished style, and evidently in some disrepair. Yet decrepit as it was, it might have once have been called handsome for its sheer size.

"Is that their house then?"

"Aye. That's the old Riddle House. There's no one that's lived there for years, now, since just after the war. Murdered they were, the whole family, and not a mark on one of them to know how it was done. It's just Frank Bryce, the old caretaker, who lives out back in his cottage there now."

"Do the villagers use the grounds, then? It looks very well cared for."

"That's old Frank's work. The villagers never go up there if they can help it. There're all sorts of rumors about that old place. They say it's haunted, that there's these ghosts walking around in dark cloaks and white faces. Idle tales, but it keeps the kids away from trying to break into the place."

"And the house, is it still in the family?"

"Well, down in the village we don't rightly know that. They say there's no one left of the family, and that some nob up in London's who owns it now. But there's no one come up to the house in years, lestaways not by daylight, they haven't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are those that say that they've seen figures round the big house by night. They say they're ghosts even, with flowing dark robes and glowing white faces. But I don't put no truck in that. It's just villagers' talk. When you work in a graveyard by night like me you can't be listening to tales like that."

"No, you're quite right, of course. Well, I should be getting on. You wouldn't happen to know of a convenient place to stop for the night, would you?"

"Hiking through the country, are you? Well, there's the Hanged Man, down in the village that you can try. I'm not sure how well it suits city folk, though."

"I'm sure I'll find it very comfortable."

"You'd better watch out for the path there. It can be a bit tricky for strangers."

"It shouldn't be a problem. I've got Paddy here to look out for me."

The caretaker moved his torch to where Remus was gesturing to see the hulking silhouette of a large black dog, watching him warily with its hackles raised. He laughed nervously.

"Oh, I didn't notice your dog over there. Quite a creature you've got. They say if you see a dog like that in a graveyard by night you've seen your own death coming. I expect that's another old wives' tale."

Remus chuckled.

"Old Paddy here's hardly the grim. He's quite harmless, really. You've got nothing to worry about."

He turned to leave, the dog close at his heels, when he turned around suddenly, with another question.

"By the way, when we were coming up here through the woods, I noticed a house, more of a shack, really, quite a distance from the village. Does anyone live there, do you know?"

"Do you mean the old Gaunt place? No one's lived there for years. Surprised it's still standing, really. That family died out 'round about the same time as the Riddles did, and a sorry end of it they made too. Who would think to look at it that they once owned all the land around here for miles?"

"What became of them, then?"

The old man shrugged, absently.

"The money was gone decades before I was born, and they were holed up away from the village off in that little shack of theirs. Something not quite right in the head about them, either; the old man was bad enough, with his temper, and delusions of glory, but the son, they say he hunted snakes out of the forest to torture them. He used to hiss strangely at the snakes, for all the world like they understood him, and he tried to talk to people that way too."

"Were there any other children?"

"There was a daughter, now that you mention it, a homely, mousy little thing. We never thought she would come to much of anything, and then one day, lo and behold, the son of the squire up and ran away with her. He was back, though, within the year, and we never knew what became of her. He came to a sticky end himself, in the end, like I said, so perhaps that's the justice in the world."

"That's very interesting. You know a great deal about the history of these parts."

"I've lived here all me life, you know. One hears things, and never really forgets the old stories."

"Well, I'll be heading off. Are you coming down to the village as well?"

"Oh, not for at least half an hour yet. I've got quite a bit of locking up to do. You'd better head along."

Remus nodded, taking his leave, as the old caretaker turned back towards the church, his torch lighting up some of the details of the famous stained glass windows. Remus turned away, heading in the opposite direction, following the path down into a little copse. Had the old man still been able to see him when he emerged, he would have been surprised to find that Paddy the dog was no longer at his heels, but instead, that another young man was dragging his heels as Remus cut a rapid clip across the undulating path.

"What on Earth was that all about? Why were you talking to that old man? I thought we didn't want to be conspicuous. And why was I there as Padfoot, anyway?"

"For the same reason, Sirius, that you hold the record for the most detentions ever at Hogwarts, while I had barely a few more than perfect Lily Evans. You can't help being conspicuous. As for me, the old man will barely remember he talked to a hiker one evening."

"But why talk to him at all? Wouldn't it have been safer just to disappear?"

"Perhaps, but I was curious. I didn't come all the way here to leave without any answers."

"I'm not sure what we were looking for exactly, at the graveyard. I gather those were Voldemort's ancestor's graves, but what do we do about them now?"

"I was checking to see if there were any protections on them, or any signs that there've been Death Eaters around."

"Obviously, there've been Death Eaters. You heard what the old man said about visitors at the Big House."

The path in front of them was starting to get a bit rocky. Remus looked around before lighting his wand.

"What are you thinking, lighting your wand like that? There could be Muggles anywhere around who see us!"

"From a distance it'll look like a torch. Sirius, you're hardly the one to tell me about being cautious about things like this."

"This isn't the first time you've used your wand today, either. I saw you poking around the graves with it as well.

"Yes, given that our entire purpose in coming here was to examine the graves I rather thought I needed to take a look. There was something a bit strange about them."

"Have they exhumed the bodies already, then?"

"I'm fairly sure not, but I wasn't able to cast _Excavo_."

"You were casting _Excavo_ by daylight in a Muggle graveyard, and you call me conspicuous?"

"I was hardly trying to excavate the entire grave; it was just a trial run on a patch of dirt. And I half expected there to be something stopping me. It's some kind of locking enchantment, I think, but I couldn't quite figure out what the key was."

"Well, that makes sense, actually. I thought it smelt a bit strange over there; a bit sterile, if you will. One expects a grave to be at least a little rank. But I suppose if there's a locking enchantment it just holds everything in place."

"See, it does do some good to have you sniffing around like that."

"I'm quite sure there was something in there that should offend me, but I don't know what, exactly."

"Good, I'm safe then."

As they approached the village lights Sirius slowed his tread, but Remus kept moving firmly along the increasingly narrow path as it wound back into the wilderness. Sirius cast a longing look back at the brightly lit sign flapping outside the The Hanged Man before catching back up with his friend.

"We aren't going in there, then? I was looking forward to a pint!"

"No, not quite yet, anyway. We're not done exploring here."

"Why not? I thought Dumbledore just wanted to us to poke around the graveyard for a bit."

"Yes, but I have my own curiosity to satisfy. And since this is all for Harry's safety I don't have any particular qualms about indulging it."

"Is this about that shack you were asking about? We certainly didn't pass anything on our way here. How is it important, anyhow?"

"What do you know about the Gaunts, Sirius?"

"The Gaunts? Well, there's a few of them on the family tree of course, from years and years ago, but no survivors in the direct line, I don't think, on our side, anyway, that I can remember. I would have heard about it, because they say they're direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself. As far as I know the family came to a sticky end some time ago. I heard rumors of Azkaban. And they lost their land to Muggles centuries ago; a very rough sort they were, at the end. I doubt my old mum would have had them round to tea. Pity really, because from everything I heard they sounded just as nasty."

"Well, it's their old shack up there that I want to have a bit of a look around in. I admit I'm rather curious."

"I take it this has something to do with our present errand, and not just morbid curiosity."

"You heard the old man, Sirius. You tell me."

"What, you don't mean…"

"Tom Riddle, the squire's son, was a single man when he died, apart from that one dalliance with the Gaunts' daughter which may or may not have culminated in marriage. Probably did, if she really did bewitch him, which she would have needed to do, by all accounts. He was a very proud man, and a handsome one, by all accounts."

"If he weren't a Muggle he sounds exactly like the sort my mother would approve of."

"Well, she did approve of his son, didn't she?"

"Who would have thought that Voldemort was really a half-blood all along? I wish I could go rub that in all their noses."

"Unfortunately, it cuts both ways. Half-blood or not he still was the last surviving Slytherin heir."

"I see what you mean. That would have that crowd bending over backwards, wouldn't it?"

"Combined with all his other dubious talents, I imagine it would rather impress them."

"I always wondered how he gathered any followers. Certainly the only time I ever saw him he never struck me as having a particularly appealing personality. Didn't even look particularly human, and that voice – worse than my mother's in some ways, and that's saying something."

"I believe that was rather different at one time. They say he was rather charismatic while he was at Hogwarts, and probably for some time after."

"Who says?"

"Professor McGonagall, for one. They went to Hogwarts only a few years apart. She told me Professor Slughorn quite doted on him."

"Well, that doesn't take much, now does it? It always annoyed me no end that he thought I should have been in Slytherin, like I was some trophy he wanted to collect."

"I wouldn't know." Remus's tone was rather dry, and Sirius stared at him for a moment.

"You didn't miss much, as you well know. I never did understand why he didn't have you in the Slug Club, though. You were rotten at Potions, granted, but you were a prefect, after all, and he had to have known that you were ace at all your other subjects."

"That's quite obvious, isn't it? Slughorn knew I wasn't particularly likely to ever be in a position to do him any favors."

"That's preposterous! That's discrimination, that is."

"Hardly, Sirius. He was never unkind to me, exactly. I think he rather pitied me, actually. And yes, he probably thought a Hogwarts education was wasted on me, with my limited opportunities. Who's to say he was wrong?"

"Dumbledore, for starters. And James and me, and Lily. Do we count for nothing?"

"Of course you do. And I'm beyond grateful to all of you. But I have been very lucky. All I'm pointing out is that Professor Slughorn was hardly wrong or even alone in expecting me to have a rather dismal future."

"You don't have to be grateful, you know."

Remus laughed, lightly.

"You say that, and of course I have to be all the more grateful that you feel that way."

They were well away from the village lights by now, and the path had started ascending again, up another gentle incline. There were quite a few turns ahead of them, and even with the wandlight Sirius could only see a few feet ahead of them. It was Remus who was leading the way.

"How do you know all of this stuff, anyway? Was this what Dumbledore had you doing, during the war?"

Remus shrugged.

"Among other things."

"What else were you up to?" Sirius asked, with genuine curiosity. It had always struck him as odd, when so much of his life and James's had revolved around tracking down and tackling Death-Eaters, that Remus was hardly ever to be found on the frontlines of the battle. Peter had never been present for those sorts of missions either, but no one had ever thought that Peter was really strong enough to be useful in a proper skirmish. Remus was different; he had made a life's study of Defense, and if he lacked anything in power he more than made up for it in knowledge and sheer creativity. Yet James and Lily had been the ones to defy Voldemort thrice, and even Sirius had faced him once and lived to tell the tale. Remus had always been conspicuously absent, and it was for this reason that Sirius's thoughts had first turned in those dark directions that had led to such disastrous consequences. But now that he knew that he had been wrong to suspect Remus, he was all the more mystified. Remus was a competent researcher, certainly, but he was no Ravenclaw, devoted to the pursuit of knowledge to the exclusion of all else. Knowledge, for Remus, was simply a potent tool in the service of action. He was hardly one to have backed away from the frontlines, and if he had been absent, it had to have been because he had been fighting a battle of his own.

"Haven't we had this discussion already, Sirius?" Remus's voice sounded tired, and as his guilt crept up on him Sirius was tempted to let the subject drop, but his dogged curiosity wouldn't allow it.

"No. We've talked about how I was a complete and utter arse, and how everything is all my fault, and you've forgiven me for being such an idiot, but we've never actually talked about why I got this stupid idea in the first place. I know you, Remus, you couldn't possibly have been sitting on the sidelines in the war. Dumbledore wouldn't have squandered your talents like that."

Remus stopped abruptly, turning around. A porcupine that had been poking its head out through the shrubbery was startled by the sudden wandlight, and scrambled back into the bushes.

"Isn't it rather obvious what I was doing, Sirius? Given my rather unique… talents, as you put it?"

"He couldn't possibly… not Greyback's people?"

"Who else was there? I was the perfect candidate, readymade, so to speak. They are my kind, Sirius, and he needed to send someone."

"Readymade by Greyback himself! How could you stand for it, Remus? They are not your kind! What was to be gained by it? We already know he's a vicious demon in Voldemort's service."

"They aren't all like that. They are made desperate by their circumstances."

"Yes, and I pity them as much as the next person. But you aren't their keeper, Remus. What was the point of sending you into that danger?"

"It was no more dangerous than anything I could have been doing. Dumbledore thought it was important to keep tabs on them, to turn any of them that I could."

"If you really thought it wasn't that dangerous, why didn't you tell us? Surely it wasn't a matter of security risk?"

"Why is this so important, Sirius?"

Sirius shook his head.

"People always think it's James and me first, brothers-in-arms, ringleaders. Perhaps even you think so; perhaps that's why you let us get away with so much. But it was never like that for us. You could always have stopped us; you did stop us, you made us feel bad, when you really meant it. You are our brother, Remus, if you would only let yourself be. You don't need to be grateful. You don't need to hold yourself back like this."

"And does that mean I have to tell you everything?" Remus asked, but there was no sting to the question.

"Perhaps not, but it does mean that you _can _tell us everything, and expect us not to judge you for it."

"Alright then. You were none of you going to react well, and there was no one else in the Order for it. It had to be me, and you would have told me not to do it."

"We would have pointed out all the reasons it was a bad idea. We could never have stopped you, Remus, but I'd like to think we could have helped. And we sure as Merlin would have talked to Dumbledore about his half-baked idea in sending you out there, which you would never do."

"Fomenting rebellion, are we?"

"I know you think you owe him everything, and I owe him nearly as much, but it doesn't mean he's always right, Remus. I think we're better off accepting that he can make the occasional mistake."

"I think it must be catching, Sirius. We are going well beyond our mandate here."

"Lead on, then. Let's go see what Dark Lords are made of."

"It shouldn't be much further now." Remus started down the path again, towards a clearing, the beginnings of which were just becoming visible behind a thicket of bushes.

"Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful, won't you?"

Remus laughed.

"It's probably just an old abandoned shack, Sirius. I think I'm quite used to those, by now."

Sirius nodded, still feeling vaguely uneasy. He wondered why that was, here, in an abandoned old house in a village, when during the war he had walked into lairs of known Death Eaters to do battle with scarcely a qualm, but he squared his shoulders, compelled to follow where Remus seemed determined to lead.

"Alright then."

The shack they saw as they turned into the clearing looked hardly large enough to be particularly sinister. It was so decrepit that the very fact that it was standing upright seemed like a minor miracle. The plaster was flaking to the point where it was impossible to tell what the original paint color might have been, or indeed whether it had ever been painted. There was a patchwork of missing slats on the sloping roofs. The window pains were sagging from their hinges, but the door was bolted shut. If it hadn't seemed so very ordinary Sirius would have said that it was entirely magic holding it together.

"What's that on the door?"

"It looks like someone nailed on a dead snake."

"Nutters, weren't they?"

Remus leaned towards the door, as if to listen for any voices from within. Sirius's foreboding intensified, as he wondered what his friend was doing.

"I'm going in, Sirius."

Remus tapped his wand on the doorknob, casting an innocuous unlocking spell. A moment later, he drew back, wincing in pain, as the door fell open.

"What happened?"

"That thing bit me."

"I thought you said it was dead."

"It was. Apparently it's some kind of snake inferius."

"It looks dead now."

"I think it's extracted what it needed. Come on, let's go in."

"You can't be serious. We have to go back and get that looked at."

"Sirius, it feels fine. We've come this far. I'm not going back now without having a look."

He walked in, without waiting for Sirius, who followed more cautiously, still worried about the incident as well as his friend's unpredictable behavior. He wasn't quite sure what had gotten into Remus, or why they were even on this ludicrous adventure.

"Besides, I can hear it calling me, can't you?" Remus asked off-handedly.

Sirius's concern was rising. He couldn't hear anything other their footsteps muffled by the dust they were raising in the manky old room. The only furniture he could see was a ragged armchair, with stuffing falling out of one of the arms, and a couple of broken chairs, which cast eerie looking shadows in the faint wandlight. Sirius didn't see anything worth taking a closer look at, but Remus was striding through the shabby room towards the unlit hearth in the back.

"_Incendio!_"

The hearth sprang to life. Remus was gazing, rapt, at the fire, his face looking flushed in the warmth of the flickering firelight. Slowly, he knelt before the fire, and put his ear so close that the flames were practically grazing it. At that moment, Sirius could have sworn that Remus had not the slightest idea that he or the room, or anything else in the world around them, existed. He approached more cautiously, and stood behind Remus in uncharacteristic silence, as though deferring to the solemnity of some strange ritual being enacted before him of which only Remus was a part.

Remus pulled his head back, and put his hand into the flames, as though searching for something only he could see, oblivious to Sirius's muttered oath. But his hand came out unscathed, holding a large gold ring. It was very pure gold; that was apparent at a glance, but rather crudely cast. The large black stone set in it was carved with three sheaves of wheat.

"The Peverell crest," said Remus, in a soft voice that conveyed all of his awe at the find.

He lovingly fingered the ring, and brought it up, close to his ear. He made as though to put it on, but Sirius interrupted this moment of communion, half expecting his friend to disappear on the spot.

"Remus?" he said, softly.

Remus blinked, turning around abruptly.

"I didn't see you there, Sirius."

"Could I have a look at that ring?"

"What? Umm, yes, of course. I dare say it's quite an ancient relic."

He handed over the ring. Sirius watched him closely, for any sign that he might be reluctant, or under some compulsion from the unknown object, but Remus seemed perfectly himself, and Sirius's moment of foreboding passed as he found himself standing in possession of the object. It was surprisingly heavy, even for its size, and quite cool, for an object that had just been pulled out of the fire.

"How did you know to find it there, Remus."

"I don't know, really. I just sort of heard it calling to me."

"Can you hear it now?"

"Of course not, Sirius. It's a ring; it doesn't talk. I think it just wanted to be found, so there was some kind of enchantment on it."

This was more like the Remus he expected to hear, but Sirius was still didn't know what to make of him. Abruptly, he wished for James, who would know how to handle a situation like this, or even Lily, who along with Remus could usually be counted on to be perfectly reasonable about everything. But of course Lily wasn't here, and James couldn't be, because someone needed to watch Harry. It was only Sirius, and he would have to muddle through this somehow, and keep them both safe.

"I never heard anything."

"You weren't bitten, though, were you?"

"There's dark magic at play here, Remus. I'm not sure I like this."

"Well, of course it's dark magic, Sirius. It's the Gaunts and Voldemort we're talking about here. Can't you see this is important?"

"It's dangerous, Remus. You just yanked it out of a magical fire."

"I'm not planning to play around with it. But we do have to figure out what it is."

"We'll show James. He's better at objects than we are."

"Right, good idea. And I'll do some research on it. It's obviously quite old."

"And how's the ear?"

Remus scratched at it absently.

"I can hardly feel anything out of the ordinary. I think it really is just to extract a little blood to let you pass."

"There's nothing good that ever came out of that kind of blood magic, Remus. We'd best be careful if we're to do any more looking around."

"I doubt there's anything else left to find here."

"Home it is, then. I'm not sure I fancy us walking past that snake again, especially if we're trying to take the ring with us."

"We'll have to find some way out of the shack; we can't apparate out."

"I don't know if it's as easy as walking out through a backdoor or jumping out the windows. I think this place is pretty tightly magicked together, like the shrieking shack. Look at those windows; they've no reason to be staying in place, otherwise."

"It's a little different, I think. The enchantments are tied to the ring – if we can figure that out I think the house will fall apart."

"Well, you're not messing around with that ring in here, and bringing the wrath of the shack upon us."

"No, I doubt that'll be necessary. There's always a fulcrum to these sorts of spells – a place where the rest of it starts from, but it's the most vulnerable point. That's why James and Lily had to use the Fidelius – so that the house itself would be totally secure – the weak point was outside, in Wormtail."

Sirius was relieved. Remus was starting to sound more like himself again, erudite, and with some kind of plan at hand, not mystically rambling about voices only he could hear. He pocketed the ring, as though hiding the temptation, and focused on what Remus was saying about how to make their escape.

"So the ring's the fulcrum? We can leave it behind and come back better prepared, Moony. We've got to return to secure the graves anyway."

"No, the ring isn't the fulcrum; it's what's being protected. Which means the center of the spell is…"

"The hearth!"

"Exactly."

"So you think we can just floo out of here?"

"I don't think it's quite that simple. For one thing, we haven't any floo powder handy."

But Sirius had a rather alarming thought, the same foreboding he had first had when Remus had lit a fire in that hearth. He had been raised in a magical household and had been walking through fire for as long as he could remember, but he had a healthy respect for the element. Fire here had protected the ring – fire would be dangerous to them. It was not an escape, it was a trap, or at least a test.

"Remus, where did the ring come from?"

"The fire – you saw how I got it."

"No, what I mean is, where was the ring before you lit the fire? Obviously it wasn't just lying in the hearth."

"No, you're right. It was keyed to the fire, somehow, like floo."

"So if we did try to floo, or escape through the fire, it would probably try to take us where the ring came from, or to some trap."

"Or, at the very least, the fire would demand a sacrifice too."

"So no fire, then. Where does that leave us?"

Remus suddenly smiled, the smile which had launched a thousand untraceable pranks, and added so many of Filch's gray hairs. It was a smile that had often made Sirius's day during his marauding career.

"Is the chimney booby-trapped?"

"What!"

"I'm not joking. This is the oldest part of the house, the most stable. It's not held upright by magic like the doors and windows are, and there's a good chance it's not fastened by magic either. Climbing through chimneys is such a very Muggle thing to do that I very much doubt Voldemort would have planned his defenses around it. No wizard planning to leave through a fire would think twice about that route."

"Moony, that's brilliant!"

"We'll need to be careful, of course. It's possible there are still some barriers in place."

"I can handle the reconnaissance," said Sirius, casting a standard slate of diagnostic spells. "It's relatively clean, magically speaking. From a soot and ash perspective it's positively filthy. I think that's the real deterrent."

"And when you say relatively?"

"We can't magic anything on to the chimney walls without tapping into the defenses on the rest of the place."

"Good thing we learnt the old fakir's rope trick, then, isn't it?"

"That's not what you said back in sixth year!"

"I was trying to keep you out of the clutches of the Improper Use of Magic Office for panhandling on Piccadilly Circus!"

"I needed the money!"

"Right," said Remus, with the polite skepticism of one who had never had any expectations of inherited wealth and few realistic prospects of earning a fortune. Sirius looked a little chagrined.

"Shall we, then?"

Remus flicked his wand casually, conjuring a rope that shimmied up the chimney, waiting for them to climb. He allowed Sirius to climb first, and then hoisted himself up. Fortunately, the chimney was large and roomy, quite out of proportion with the rest of the house. They were able pass through without touching the walls, although their clothes gathered quite a lot of soot. Finally, they emerged over the shack, into the tree lined starry night. Sirius peered down at him.

"Apparate directly?"

"Right – but scourgify first, I think." Remus replied, waving his wand over both of them.

"Thanks. Rendevous at West Ham station, then, and debrief at home."

Remus nodded, and the two wizards disappeared from their precarious positions, the rope tumbling down into the fireplace below them.


	7. Searchin

**Chapter 7: Searchin'**

Contrary to popular belief, the 1692 International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had not been a blanket prohibition on Wizard-Muggle interaction, but rather, a regulatory mechanism to oversee the egregious flaunting of magical prowess. In some arenas, the boundaries had remained quite permeable of necessity, but as time had passed and the two worlds had started to drift apart, many institutions straddling the two worlds had perforce had to choose one side or the other. Thus it was that St. Mungo's had stopped admitting Muggles unless they had suffered magical catastrophes or were the immediate family of wizards, while the Bethlehem Royal Hospital, or Bedlam, had chosen otherwise, unfortunately retaining a complement of patients suffering from ailments unsusceptible to Muggle methods of cure, which eventually earned it its place in the English language.

In the field of law, the choice had largely gone in favor of the Muggles. The so-called Magic Circle of venerable English law firms, had for the most part, retained little more than the time-honored appellation, having found it far easier to deal with Muggle financiers than Gringotts goblins prone to frequent rebellions. The sheer volume of work emanating from the Muggle world was an extremely attractive prospect. Not so for Ripp, Levin, and Somerset. Ripp, Levin did serve some Muggle clients with whose families it had an ancient association, but its primary expertise was in the vagaries of wizarding law, and it proudly maintained its head offices in League Alley.

Ripp, Levin had represented the Potter family for generations, and their ties to the family went beyond simply offering their services. The current managing partner, Jebediah Levin, had been a dear friend of James's grandfather as well as his solicitor, and though he was always soft spoken, he was one of the few people in the world whom James had always been a little in awe of. Thus, having arranged to meet Mr. Levin for lunch at White's, James arrived nearly ten minutes early, his hair uncharacteristically neat. He was waiting in the lobby for only a few minutes before his guest arrived.

"Ah, there you are, James."

"I hope you're quite well, sir."

Levin was just as James remembered him always looking, slightly heavy set, in a dark suit that would pass beyond reproach in a Muggle setting except for its rather old fashioned air. His dark eyes, James knew, were very perceptive, and though they had often made James a little uncomfortable when he was younger, he knew as his father had before him that this was a wizard he wanted on his side.

"Very well indeed. And how about you and young Harry?"

"As well as can be expected, sir. He's growing very quickly."

"So they do, at that age."

"Shall we, sir?"

Apart from its other notable distinctions, White's was unique in that it had always kept its doors open to both Wizarding and Muggle members from its inception just a few years after the passage of the Statute of Secrecy. Remus had once joked that this was because chocolate was a kind of magic all its own, but of course White's had long since left those roots behind. Of course there were those in the Wizarding world who sneered on the club's mixed membership policy, and preferred Watier's, which had chosen to disappear from the Muggle world years ago, and was now visible to members only, but many others had a long history of association with the club.

James led his guest up the stairs, eschewing the club's smaller dining room reserved for Wizarding members as well as the large airy chamber where members were able to entertain lady guests. He made his way to the other members-only dining room, which he had rarely ever seen after the first time his father had brought him around the club prior to proposing him as a member. This was the first time James had availed of the club's facilities in several years; White's membership was very exclusive, but many of those he had found himself fighting had come from the Wizarding world's finest families. For today's meeting, it was certainly the most appropriate venue; James could not risk appearing in Ripp, Levin's League Alley offices, and however much he trusted Mr. Levin, he knew that Dumbledore would not have considered it appropriate if he had invited the solicitor to his new home. There was a relatively small risk that James would be spotted here, but even if he was, it was well known that he was a member.

The dining room was relatively quiet for a weekday, and they were able to obtain a small table in a relatively secluded corner. James waited for his guest to be seated before he drew his own chair, and the two of them took a few minutes to order lunch.

"So James, my boy, is there something on your mind, or is this a purely social occasion?"

"No, well, yes. I wanted to see you, of course. And I haven't really had a chance to talk to you after Lily's funeral, and I know there are some things we need to discuss, especially about Harry's future. But I also had some other questions, and I'd appreciate your advice."

James looked up, meeting Levin's compassionate eyes, which were looking suspiciously bright.

"How are you holding up, James?"

"Well enough, I suppose. I miss her like anything, but I know she'd want me to be strong through this for Harry. I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for him; I'd probably go mad. I just... I mean, you know what we've been through; I'm not going to pretend I never feared that Harry would lose a parent, but somehow I always thought it would be me; that I'd be able to protect Lily and Harry somehow. It doesn't seem very fair, what's happened. I never had a chance; I wasn't even there."

"You know that nothing good will come out of that line of thought, James."

"I know that, sir. I know I should be happy that Harry has me, at least. And I'm not being morbid, really."

"I'm not going to minimize your loss, James. She was a remarkable young woman. Your parents were very proud of your choice."

"Thank you, sir."

They paused for a few minutes as the waiter served them, and resumed the conversation over an excellent lunch.

"So is it young Mr. Black who is minding Harry today, or Mr. Lupin?"

James blinked.

"Oh, come, James. You may have disappeared from the Wizarding World quite publicly, but surely you'd realize that Sirius Black's conspicuous absence would be noted as well? He did have quite a reputation at one time. Of course not everyone has noticed that Lupin hasn't been seen for exactly that same period either, but you might have guessed that some of us would keep an eye out."

"They both have him, actually, although Remus wanted to try and get some work done."

"Your son is a good influence for Mr. Black, I think."

"I'm glad you think so. Everyone else thought I was quite mad to make him godfather."

"That's never stopped you from having good ideas in the past."

"Thank you, sir. Though I must admit I'm a bit surprised you'd think they were good ideas. I thought you'd share my father's views on that kind of thing."

"I hardly need to dignify that with a response, James. You were a little rowdier than a man his age could keep up with all the time, but you know perfectly well that your father could not have been more proud."

James nodded, concentrating perhaps a little too intently on his dover sole. Levin gave him a sharp look, and spoke briskly.

"Well then, what was it you needed to talk to me about?"

James looked up, still looking a bit awkward.

"I suppose we should talk about Harry, first of all."

"You know what the arrangements for him are, of course. You're his primary guardian. And you and Lily named Sirius his Godfather, so he has custody rights should anything happen to you, and custodianship of the estate before Harry comes of age."

"After what happened, I'd like a few more contingencies arranged for, in case something happens to me or Sirius."

"Is there something in particular motivating this?"

James hesitated for a moment, before speaking.

"Professor Dumbledore wanted to put Harry with Lily's sister and her family. I've nothing against Muggles, sir, but I know what these people are like. They didn't come to our wedding, or her funeral, even. I know Lily wrote her letters every month, but I never once saw a reply. They like to pretend that we don't exist, that she never had a sister. Merlin knows how they would have treated Harry. And I just know that if I hadn't survived that night, Dumbledore would've packed my son off with them, regardless of Sirius's or anybody's rights in the matter. I want to make sure that can't happen, but at the same time, I need to make sure that Harry's somewhere safe from harm, too."

"And do you have any ideas about what measures you want to take?"

"Well, to start with, I was wondering if we could get Remus in there as well."

"It's a bit tricky, given his condition, but it should be possible, yes."

"I wasn't aware you knew of his condition, sir."

Levin raised an eyebrow, considering James shrewdly.

"If you didn't think I knew of it, I certainly hope you were planning on telling me. His situation does have legal consequences, you know."

"It's sheer discrimination, sir. You know it is. It shouldn't be encoded in our laws."

"When they affect an upstanding young man like your friend, certainly, but those who made him what he is are a very different sort of creature, James. You can't be so naïve as to think otherwise."

"There are plenty of monsters who walk on two legs at all times of the month and don't have the excuse of sublunary insanity. We're letting half of them walk free."

"I can certainly understand your impatience with the circus Crouch and his lot are making of the Wizengamot right now, but you see, the point really is very similar, in some ways. And I must say that your old mentor, Dumbledore, is at least as responsible as Crouch, or for that matter, my colleagues over at Crafte & Guyle."

"How so, sir?"

"Dumbledore is a remarkable man who has accomplished a great deal in his time, and no doubt he has much more left in him. But he deals with the world on an individual basis. He has very little faith in institutions, certainly not the Ministry, but not even his beloved Hogwarts. And perhaps it is just an old solicitor's bias, but the world doesn't quite work like that, because even very great men do not stay in this world for ever, and the not-so-great must be protected by institutions and processes, because they must be protected from those very institutions and processes run amok. But it's not the most efficient way of doing things, or even the best way, one instance at a time, so he dispenses with them."

"But that's necessary, isn't it? He'd never get anything done, otherwise."

"Perhaps that's true, but it does make it harder for other people who don't have his capabilities or status to achieve the same ends, and if he's not careful he won't always have the luxury of doing exactly what he wishes without heed to the consequences. Your friend Mr. Lupin is an excellent case in point. He was the first child in his position, being raised by a loving and supportive family, even-tempered, cautious, well-prepared academically. He deserved the chance for an education, and Dumbledore decided, unilaterally, that he would have one. But to this day, no one outside a very select circle knows that a werewolf was ever at Hogwarts. Even the Board of Governors was never informed. Healers at Mungo's aren't able to tell parents that their children still have the chance to go to school, and have a childhood. Employers don't know that werewolves are capable of getting twelve OWLs and ten NEWTS and being responsible Prefects, without ever injuring anybody. What'll happen to the next child in his position, whose parents are tempted to abandon him to Greyback's pack? Who isn't quite as even-tempered, and actually has the temerity to be a little angry at the world? How will the Ministry know that there are decent people being affected by those laws you were railing against? And it's the same thing that happened in fighting the war. Dumbledore fought with his own crowd, those he trusted, rather than the Ministry, and now that You-Know-Who is gone he's taking a backseat in what happens next, and letting Crouch run the show."

James nodded, a little surprised that Levin had responded at such length. It was obviously a subject on which the older man had strong feelings. He understood the basic point, of course, although he personally had never taken a particularly passionate stance on the subject. Having grown up in the wizarding world, he had always taken for granted that the separation of the magical and muggle courts of law and equity was all for the better. How ever much modern Muggles might mock the idea of trial by fire or trial by ordeal today, he had firmly believed that magical procedures were sufficient safeguards against miscarriages of justice. Lily, on the other hand, had been quite appalled to realize how the wizarding justice system now operated. She had argued that magic could always be used to overcome magic, even such tools as Veritaserum, and that real procedural safeguards like those the Muggle courts had developed after the Separation were necessary. Seeing how Crouch, as self-appointed prosecutor-in-chief, was manipulating the Wizengamot had certainly suggested to him that Lily had a point, but neither of them had ever really thought that in joining Dumbledore they were similarly circumventing what might be the more sensible established procedure.

"That's an interesting way of putting it, sir. I don't think I'd ever thought about it quite that way."

"No, I'd imagine not. One hears things, of course, and given what happened it's fairly obvious of course how you were fighting this war. And it's not wholly wrong, either; certainly the Ministry wasn't doing as good a job as your lot, and in times of war, there's something to be said for that, but it's not the most effective way to handle the peace, if one wants it to last."

"But there's clearly a problem in the way the Ministry's working this stuff out right now. Do you think there's any way of fixing it, sir?"

"There are always ways of changing these things, James, but they are often slow and time consuming. You can act through the Wizengamot, or the Ministry, of course, or sometimes it's easier to act from the outside. But I've never known you to be particularly interested in abstract miscarriages of justice, James. You've got something particular on your mind, don't you?"

James nodded. The waiter returned, to clear their plates, and James took the minute to gather his thoughts.

"It's not so much about the trials, actually; it was Sirius who was the one fretting about Malfoy and the Lestranges the other day. I know solicitors don't have much to do with that side of things, although I did hear about Trevor Guyle. It's more about Ministry protocol to do with Muggles, really. I met someone the other day whose husband disappeared without a trace, and I had a sort of idea that he was one of our kind, you know, a war victim, and she had absolutely no way of ever finding out anything, other than thinking for the whole of her life that he just abandoned her for nothing."

"And do you have any particular reason to believe that it was connected to the war? Was

"There was something familiar about her, but the name I didn't recognize. Lester Thomas."

"Lester Thomas? Are you sure, James? I didn't know he was married."

"It was quite sudden, apparently. They were only married a few weeks when he disappeared. He hadn't even told his parents. But you do know him, then?"

"I've been in contact with his parents, trying to trace him. He's from Barbados; very prominent family. Apparently he was here in England to administer the family properties. There's no obvious connection to the war, but of course under the circumstances everyone assumes that he got caught up in it somehow."

"And now there's a wife and child involved."

"A child, too? That's certainly something we'll need to contact the family back in Barbados about."

"She knows nothing about magic at all. And there must be so many like her."

"Not so many, James. The Ministry isn't completely inept, you know, and most wizards don't tend to keep their Muggle relations completely in the dark."

"Enough that we should try and do something to fix it. Enough that we should at least try and find out exactly what the Death Eaters were up to. It's not just wizard relations; there was plenty of Muggle-baiting that wasn't connected to wizards at all. And we just obliviate their relations and let them live out a lie, or let them wonder for ever? There's so many disappearances that we've never really traced. How many more that we don't even know about?"

"That sounds like quite a crusade, James. An interesting job for a man supposedly in hiding."

"I'll find some way."

"Of that I have no doubt, James."

They rose, walking towards the doorway, and paused outside, in the vestibule, as James returned to the subject at hand.

"Do you have any leads at all, on Thomas?"

"Not as such. I have some information on what properties and interests he had come here to look into, but it's just a starting point. But if he did wind up involved in the war it's likely your lot knows something more than the Ministry does. Tracing missing aliens certainly hasn't been their strongest priority lately."

"You'll be in touch, won't you? I need your advice on both fronts, really."

"One more thing, James, I've been meaning to mention. Do let young Mr. Black know that we're available to help him should he require any advice about his current situation."

"I'm not sure what you mean about his current situation, sir."

"You do know that I handle young Mr. Black's affairs, don't you, James?"

"Yes, of course, sir. I know you helped him protect his inheritance from the family."

"And I'm sure you've heard about the younger Mr. Black's demise?"

"Yes, of course."

"Your friend is now the last of that name. There is no other Black male to father another heir, and all of Sirius's cousins are females married into other families. Given the conditions of that particular inheritance, he is once again the heir to the Black properties, as much as his family would like otherwise."

"Does Sirius know about this? I'm not sure he wants to be heir any more than they want him."

"I can't be sure how much he knows, but he will undoubtedly be contacted by someone from Crafte & Guyle eventually. It's just as well that he should know his position before it comes to that."

"Yes, of course sir. I'll let him know to contact you."

"Thank you, James. It was very nice seeing you today, after so long."

"Likewise, sir. I'll be in touch."

The two shook hands, and Levin disapparated to his offices. James grabbed his topcoat from the stately butler, and followed likewise.


	8. Twist and Shout

_I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I've been tinkering around with it for a while now, and I think it's past time I posted. The quote in italics is from Hamlet, and there are thematic overtones from it as well._

**Chapter 8: Twist and Shout**

James cleared out his study desk, and cast a containment ward before pulling out the Gaunt ring from his drawer, examining it speculatively. As Sirius had earlier noted, it was certainly heavier than its material constituents, and only very powerful magic would leave such a tangible trace. He muttered "_incendio_," starting a carefully contained fire that he nevertheless escalated to a white hot state at which ordinary gold, even if magically reinforced, would start to show signs of melting. The ring withstood this temperature, as James had half expected it would, given his friends' story of how they had acquired the object. He had hoped not to destroy the ring but to try and burn out whatever dark impurity was therein contained, but it seemed as though fire could have no effect on it. James examined the inscription on the ring again, wondering if that contained any clue. There were three coarsely carved sheaves of wheat inscribed on the ring – the Peverell crest, as Remus had identified it. Remus had done some further research on the subject after his return from the Gaunt shack, although he seemed to shirk from coming in contact with the ring itself. He had found that this was not the only crest the Peverells had adopted. The alternative crest bore a charging lion, much like the Gryffindor crest, and James had to wonder how such insignia could be associated with a family that was so deeply associated with the Slytherin line. Neither symbol gave James any guidance as to how he might unbind the enchantment on the ring, or even how he could get it to manifest itself.

A knock on the door interrupted James's reverie, and he looked up to see Sirius enter, carrying a rather fretful Harry.

"What's the matter?"

"Would you mind if I left the little fellow in here with you? I need to head out for a bit. He seems a bit restless, and I didn't want to leave him alone in this state, even with Lily watching."

"What about Remus? Is he out as well?"

"No, he's in his room, but he's already looking feverish and a bit restless. It's going to be a bad moon tonight."

"It's early, yet. He shouldn't be feeling much of anything. Are you sure it's not something else? Could he and Harry be getting sick, do you think?"

"I'm not sure about this one, but I don't think Remus is sick with any sort of Muggle illness. He's starting to get a bit delirious even, mumbling and muttering things. And he keeps rubbing that ear where he was bitten. If anything it's some sort of poisoning by that snake inferious."

"What was he muttering about?"

"I don't know. I cast a relaxing charm on him and told him to get a bit of rest. He was starting to doze off when I came up here."

"I'll have to look in on him a bit later."

"What about tonight? Are you planning on joining us?"

"Yes, I was planning on it. If you think it'll be a bad moon it's all the more necessary."

"And what about Harry?"

"I have that planned out. Althea's told me she's happy to look after the boys, and we've babysat for Dean a few times, so I don't feel too bad imposing on her."

"But you need a good story if you're leaving him there for the night."

"Yes, I'll tell her that a friend of mine got in an accident, and I'll need to be there at the emergency room to support him, since he hasn't any family. It'll look true enough if she comes by to visit tomorrow and gets a glimpse of Remus."

"That's not bad. Strictly a one time excuse, though."

"We'll worry about that when it comes to it. Who knows, we may even be able to tell her the truth some day. Muggles don't have the same prejudices that our kind do."

"It's not your secret to tell, James. Have you even told her about her own husband yet?"

"No, I haven't been able to. I feel like I should know something more about what happened to him before I do. It's strange under the best of circumstances, but I really know nothing about him."

"You could get her in touch with his family. At least she'd have support for the baby."

"And what if they're old fashioned purebloods? There had to be some reason he hadn't even told his parents about her."

"Regardless of which it's something for them to figure out, not you, James."

"Where are you off to, anyway?"

Sirius gave him a slightly sheepish look.

"I have some things I need to take care of."

"Would these things have to do with the ungodly racket I hear coming out of your room when you think no one's listening?"

"Maybe."

"Well, whenever your sorry excuse for a band gets its act together, let us know. We'll come down to the pub to rag on you."

"Piss off, Potter."

"Language, Black. That's my son you're holding."

"Never thought James Potter's son would have such delicate ears. Heavy little blighter he is, too. Down you go, moppet. Go to Daddy, now."

Sirius put Harry down, and the boy stumbled towards his father, walking awkwardly. He seemed to have skipped the crawling stage altogether, which James took as a sign of stunning precocity. Of course, it did mean that the boy stumbled and tripped more than he might have otherwise. Today, he made it over to James with relatively little trouble, and allowed James to pick him up and perch him on the edge of the large desk, waving to Sirius as he headed out of the house. Once Sirius had left, Harry turned around, looking at what James was working on, reaching immediately for the large, shiny ring.

"Harry, no!"

But Harry was an active child, and had grasped the ring before James could stop him. He fiddled with it slightly, but settled down with a look of intense concentration that James had seen before in those intense green eyes, but not in his little boy.

"Want to come out? Play with Harry, play with Moony? No, go away!"

James was growing increasingly alarmed; he wanted to grab the ring out of Harry's hands, but he didn't know if that would do more damage, and he didn't really understand how the enchantment was affecting his son. His alarm escalated into shock as Harry spoke again, this time in a sinister hiss quite different from his piping boyish voice. Suddenly, Harry looked up, meeting his eyes with a look of alarm, and flung the ring across the room. He tried to speak again, starting to hiss before James finally overcame his paralysis and picked up the boy, cuddling him in his lap.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry hugged him, settling himself more closely against his father.

"Will you say something, poppet? Did that ring talk to you?"

Harry started speaking in a rapid stream, as James tried to figure out what the boy was talking about. Fortunately the boy had reverted to English after James picked him up, and James set aside the morning's great revelation, that Harry was a parselmouth, and focused on understanding what the boy was saying.

"Bad friend, bad ring. Wants to come out – magic genie, play with Harry, but take away Moony. Turn into Moony but not Moony. I said go away, no take away my friend. Tried to tell me good, but bad! Harry want Moony, don't want ring genie in Moony. Genie talking to Moony, always talking to Moony – inside Moony's head."

"Is the ring still talking to you, Harry?"

"Not Harry, Moony. Wants Moony."

"Can you still hear it, though?"

Harry looked up at James and shook his head violently.

"No want to hear voices! No want ring!"

"No, Harry, of course not. Let's get you out of this room."

He picked up the boy, relieved, and went down the hall. He certainly didn't want his son involved in a situation like this, especially since they still weren't quite sure what they were dealing with. Harry still seemed spooked by his encounter with the ring. He clung on to James far more tightly than he normally would, and while James was equally reluctant to let him go just yet, he did have to wonder how he would handle it if Harry's behavior did persist throughout the day. On this night, Remus's need was greater than Harry's, and he especially needed to find out what was going on with Remus before nightfall came. He and Sirius hadn't really probed Remus on what had happened since the night they had acquired the ring, and perhaps Remus hadn't really known either. Harry had cast quite a different light on the matter, but he was still a toddler, and his somewhat incoherent rambling was really more than James had expected. He could hardly tell them exactly what he was hearing, even if he was a well spoken child for his age; he barely understood what could be going on in a situation like this, and James would hardly want him to understand. He was suddenly glad that Remus had spent so much time reading Harry fairy tales, especially the Arabian Nights. James had privately been skeptical of how much the little boy had understood, but Harry seemed to enjoy Remus's reading and the exotic pictures, and because of it now he had something of a vocabulary to tell them what he was hearing.

He took Harry down to Remus's room, hoping that seeing him would make Harry feel a little better, and not unsettle him further. Remus was still in bed, as Sirius had said, and he seemed rather restless. Nevertheless, he sat up as saw James and Harry come in, and motioned for them to sit down on the foot of the bed. As they did so, Harry crawled out of James's arms, and went and gave Remus a tight hug.

"What's the matter, James?" Remus asked, situating Harry on his lap and ruffling his hair.

"How are you feeling, Remus?"

"Not terribly well, but that's not so unexpected, on a full moon morning."

"Are you hearing things?"

Remus frowned, tugging at his ear.

"Not exactly. My ear's starting to act up a bit, though. I thought I was hearing some whispers in my head when I was sleeping, and I didn't really get a lot of rest, but I'm not hearing voices in my head now. Why do you ask?"

"It's that ring. Harry said it's talking to you. I think it's trying to possess you."

"Harry?" Remus raised an eyebrow, skeptically, but he frowned, not able to altogether dismiss the notion. Harry squirmed a little in his lap, tugging at his shirt to get his attention.

"Ring genie wants Moony. Bad ring!" he piped up. He tried to say more, but stumbled over his words, and grew visibly frustrated until Remus nodded at him earnestly and ruffled his hair again. He cuddled the little boy, looking up inquisitively at James.

"It turns out Harry's a parselmouth."

"What!"

"Anyway, that's not important. What's important right now is that when Harry picked up the ring, he could hear a voice talking to you in parseltongue. He says the voice is in your head; as near as I can tell, there's something in that ring that's trying to possess you. That's what Harry seems to be calling a genie."

"But I'm not a parselmouth; I can't understand anything it's saying."

"Apparently not, when you're awake, at least."

"But when I'm asleep…" Remus stared out of the window with a distant look on his face, as though he was trying to fit the pieces of some kind of puzzle together, "I haven't been sleeping very well for a few days now; I wake up with all these strange notions in my head. And it's getting worse; this morning especially. My ear is really starting to throb."

"It's that inferius; it poisoned your ear. I told you you should have had it looked at."

"This isn't the sort of thing the Healers would have checked for, anyway," Remus countered, then murmured, "_In the porches of my ear did pour the leperous distilment, whose effect holds such an enmity with the blood of man._"

"So when you're not in control of your rational faculties…"

Remus's eyes widened, "…like tonight. It's going to try to possess the wolf."

James nodded.

"We'll have to keep you away from that ring, of course. I'll find a place to keep it secure."

"I wonder if that's the best idea."

"What do you mean? We can't let it possess you!"

"One way or another, Moony's the one who's going to have to fight it off."

"Not alone. And not tonight."

"I'm not sure physical proximity will stop the ring. It's going to want to come after me regardless."

"We can experiment when we have more information. For tonight we'll play it safe."

"You and Harry have to be out of the house one way or another."

"Are you out of your mind? Of course I'll be there. It's even more urgent now."

"And what about Harry? I won't have him in the house, especially if he can hear any of this. Bad enough that's he's involved in it this far."

"That's planned out already. I'll take him over to Althea's once Sirius gets back. She's agreed to watch him for the night."

Remus nodded.

"Try and get some rest, mate. You'll need your energy tonight."

"I'm not sure what good that'll do. I'll try some occlumency exercises, see if I can clear my head a bit that way."

James clapped him on the shoulder, picked up Harry, and left, pulling Remus's door shut. Regardless of the impression he had tried to give Remus, he was apprehensive about the upcoming night. Grateful as he was for what advance notice Harry had managed to give him, he really didn't want his son involved in any of this, and he wondered whether the physical distance would be enough to insulate Harry from the effects of this. None of them had any clear idea about what they could do about this. Brute force was not a solution he wanted to try, at least not before he knew what the consequences of this might be. If they had more time, they might have been able to devise some subtler plan, but that would require Remus to think this through in a clearheaded manner, which he certainly would not be able to do today. For tonight, they would just have to ride it out, and hope for the best.

Moonrise that night was relatively early, and by the time James returned after dropping Harry off, Remus had already retired to the cellar. Sirius, fortunately, had been home to make sure Remus was alright. He had sat with Remus all afternoon after his return, and had helped him downstairs when Remus had gotten nervous for the impending night.

"About time you got here, Prongs!"

"Sorry, mate, I had to explain Harry's things to Althea. He's been feeling a bit restless after this morning, and it's not like she'll be able to call me if something goes wrong tonight."

"Fair enough, but we're cutting it a bit fine. Come on, let's go downstairs."

As he and Sirius entered the basement James shut the door and put up a slew of locking and soundproofing spells. He walked down the stairs to the cot where Remus sat, rickety already from the wolf's battering in the three moons they had spent in this house. Remus was shivering slightly and covered in a threadbare blanket. It should have been a familiar sight from all the moons they had spent together, as boys and men, but something was different tonight. Remus was looking distinctly more off-color than he had been that morning. He was muttering to himself distractedly, shaking his head and tugging absently at his left year. Apparently the poison had gotten strong enough that he could understand something of the parseltongue even while awake.

"No, stop that whispering, I won't let you, I'm not… keep it far away from me; it won't reach me."

"Has he told you what he's been hearing?"

"Not really. He's been like this most of the afternoon, very distracted. Every once in a while he tries to sit up and explain something important to me, but most of the time he's just mumbling back and forth. We should have had Pomfrey look at it."

"Remus would never have agreed. It looked just fine. I couldn't even find the bite marks the next morning."

"You know as well as I do that's not natural. There was some dangerous magic at play at that house. I'm sorry we went in there without scoping it out properly."

"Has he told you what he's hearing from the ring? Harry wasn't really able to tell us much, obviously."

"This doesn't make sense though. What sort of voice can that ring have? We're not hearing anything, and even Harry didn't when he wasn't touching it, right?"

"We weren't the ones who were bitten by that snake. You said yourself there was no way Remus could have known to retrieve the ring from the fire if the suggestion hadn't come from somewhere."

"But he said it was fine. It stopped right after he grabbed the ring out of the fire. He's been completely normal the last two weeks."

"Obviously, it's affected the wolf, somehow. I should have played around with that ring a bit more. There's something funny about it. It's just not supposed to be that heavy, and the fire didn't affect it at all. There are some strong magics bound up in there."

Remus convulsed, violently, still muttering. James sat down next to him, replacing the covers, and Sirius crouched by them. As he shifted, Remus looked up at James, distractedly.

"No, don't… Oh, James, it's you. I thought…"

"Remus, can you tell me what's happening? Are you hearing the voices now?"

"Not me, the wolf… it's getting closer. I… I think it's possessed, James. The voice is trying to talk to me through him, taunt me. You have to fight it, James. It wants something; you mustn't let it win. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Moony. We can handle the wolf."

"No, James. You don't understand. It won't just be Moony tonight. He's fighting this as much as I am, he's been fighting it all month, I think, but it's strong, and he'll be alone tonight. I… I won't be here, really, and it's trying to slip in through the cracks and tempt Moony or force him. You… have to help him, and if he's losing, you have to fight him."

"What are you saying, Remus?"

"I haven't much time, James." Remus was gasping now, and James recognized the last throes of humanity before the change set in, "It's all up to you and Sirius now. You have to fight this… I've trusted you with this for so long… I'm trusting you now, to put Moony out of his misery."

"No! It won't come to that."

"I… can't make any promises, James. It's in your hands."

"Remus..."

"Change. Now."

And James knew better than to argue with that. As Remus went rigid, then started to shudder all the more violently, Sirius morphed into the large black dog that was Padfoot. James stood up, and fluidly transformed into the powerful stag, shaking out his antlers. He wasn't looking forward to putting them to use on his friend tonight.

A low howl that gradually gathered in strength alerted James that Remus's transformation had commenced. James and Sirius took their positions around the bed, ready to corral the wolf. A long moment later, it shook off the blankets and landed on the floor with a savage grace that belied the agony of only a few moments previous. The wolf growled, its hackles raised, unmistakably hostile to the animals it normally knew to recognize as friends. James stomped his hooves, issuing his warning to the werewolf, and preparing to be charged. It would be a long night tonight, and he wished he could be confident that they would all come out of it unscathed.


End file.
